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THE   BEST   NOVELS   BY 
FERGUS   HUME 

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The  Sacred  Herb 

Claude  Duval  of  Ninety-five 

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The  Pagan's  Cup 

A  Coin  of  Edward  VII     . 

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AS    BELLA    HAN    INTO    HIS    ARMS    HE    DRAGGED    HER    INTO   THE    STANDING   CORN. 

Frontispiece.    Page  289. 


The  Solitary  Farm 


BY 

FERGUS    HUME 

AUTHOR  OF 

"THE  MYSTERY  OF  A  HANSOM  CAB," 

,STHE  SACRED  HERB,"  "THE  SEALED  MESSAGE,"  "THE  GREEN 

MUMMY,"      "THE    OPAL    SERPENT,"    "THE    RED 

WINDOW,"   "THE  YELLOW  HOLLY," 

ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


Copyright  1909  by 
G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  COMPANY 


The  Solitary  Farm 


PR 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Domain  of  Ceres  7 

II.  The  Wooin'  o't  21 

III.  The  Tardy  Lover  34 

IV.  Sudden  Death  46 
V.  A  Mysterious  Crime  59 

VI.  The  Inquest  70 

VII.  Cyril  and  Bella  84 

VIII.  The  Witch-Wife  96 

IX.  The  Coming  of  Durgo  108 

X.  A  Lover's  Meeting  121 

XI.  A  Recognition  131 

XII.  Cyril's  Story  144 

XIII.  Mrs.  Tunes'  Discovery  158 

XIV.  What  Silas  Pence  Knew  171 
XV.  Durgo,  the  Detective  182 

XVI.  The  Papers  193 

XVII.  A  Confession  205 

XVIII.  The  Ghost  217 

XIX.  An  Awkward  Position  229 

XX.  The  Master  Magician  241 

XXI.  A  Desperate  Attempt  255 

XXII.  Mrs.  Vand's  Repentance  2&J 

XXIII.  What  Luke  Tunks  Saw  278 

XXIV.  A  Remarkable  Discovery  290 
XXV.  Run  to  Earth  301 


The    Solitary  Farm 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   DOMAIN    OF   CERES 


"S'  y'  want  t'  merry  m'  gel,  Bella !"  remarked  Captain 
Huxham,  rubbing  his  stout  knees  slowly,  and  repeat- 
ing the  exact  words  of  the  clerical  suitor.  "S'  thet 
she  may  be  yer  handmaiden,  an'  yer  spouse,  and  yer 
sealed  fountain,  es  y'  put  it  in  yer  flowery  pulpit  lingo. 
Jus'  so !  Jus'  so !"  and  shifting  the  quid  which  bulged 
his  weather-beaten  cheek,  he  stared  with  hard  blue 
eyes.    "Jus'  so,  Mr.  Pence  I" 

The  young  minister  and  the  elderly  skipper  dis- 
cussed the  subject  of  marriage  in  a  shabby  antique 
room  of  small  size,  which  had  the  appearance  of  hav- 
ing been  used  to  more  aristocratic  company.  The 
dark-oak  panelled  walls,  the  grotesquely-carved  ceil- 
ing-beams, the  Dutch-tiled  fire-place,  with  its  ungainly 
brass  dogs,  and  the  deep  slanting  embrasure  of  the 
lozenge-paned  casement,  suggested  Georgian  beaux 
and  belles  dancing  buckram  minutes,  or  at  least  hard- 
riding  country  squires  plotting  Jacobite  restoration. 
But  these  happenings  were  in  the  long-ago,  but  this 
stately  Essex  manor-house  had  declined  woefully  from 
its  high  estate,  and  now  sheltered  a  rough  and  ready 
mariner,  who  camped,  rather  than  dwelt,  under  its 
roof. 

Captain  Huxham,  seated  on  the  broad,  low  win- 
dow-sill, thrust  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  brass- 
buttoned  pea-jacket,  and  swung  his  short,  sturdy  legs, 


8  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

which  were  enveloped  in  wide  blue-cloth  trousers.  He 
was  a  squat  man,  with  lengthy  arms  and  aggressively 
square  shoulders,  and  his  large,  flat  face  was  as  the 
winter  sun  for  redness.  Clean-shaven,  save  for  a 
fringe  of  white  hair  which  curved  under  his  stubborn 
chin  from  one  large  ear  to  the  other,  his  tough  skin 
was  seamed  with  innumerable  wrinkles,  accumulating 
particularly  thickly  about  his  eyes.  He  had  gold  rings 
in  his  ears,  and  plenteous  grey  hair  hung  like  seaweed 
from  under  a  peaked  cap,  pushed  back  from  his  lined 
forehead.  He  looked  what  he  truly  was — a  rough, 
uneducated,  imperious  old  sea-dog,  whose  knowledge 
of  strong  drink  and  stronger  language  was  only  ex- 
ceeded by  his  strenuous  grip  of  the  purse  which  held 
the  savings  of  many  rapacious  years.  In  this  ro- 
mantic room  he  looked  entirely  out  of  place.  Never- 
theless it  was  his  own  property,  and  while  consider- 
ing his  answer  to  Mr.  Pence,  he  examined  it  mechani- 
cally. 

To  the  left  he  beheld  a  large  open  fire-place,  which 
gaped  under  an  ornate  oak  mantel-piece,  carved  with 
the  crest  and  motto  of  the  dispossessed  family.  A 
door  appeared  on  the  right,  leading  to  the  entrance 
hall,  and  this  also  was  elaborately  carved  with  wreaths 
of  fruit  and  flowers,  and  with  fat,  foolish  Cupids,  en- 
tangled in  knots  of  ribbon.  The  fourth  wall  was  un- 
broken, and  faced  the  window,  but  against  it  stood  a 
common  deal  table  covered  incongruously  with  an  em- 
broidered Indian  cloth.  Above  this,  and  leaning  for- 
ward, was  a  round  convex  mirror,  surmounted  by  a 
Napoleonic  eagle.  This  was  flanked  on  one  side  by  an 
oilskin  coat  and  a  sou'-wester,  and  on  the  other  by  a 
sextant  and  a  long  brass  telescope.  A  Louis  Quinze 
sofa,  with  a  gilt  frame,  and  covered  with  faded  bro- 
cade, fitted  into  the  space  between  the  fire-place  and 
the  casement.  In  the  opposite  corner,  with  its  back 
to  the  outer  wall,  stood  a  large  modern  office-desk  of 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  g 

mahogany,  with  a  flexible  curved  lid,  which  was 
drawn  down  and  fastened,  because  a  visitor  was  in 
the  room.  Captain  Huxham  never  received  anyone 
in  his  sanctum  unless  he  first  assured  himself  that  the 
desk  was  closed,  and  a  small,  green-painted  safe  near 
it  fast-locked. 

There  were  three  or  four  rush-bottomed  chairs, 
which  looked  plebeian  even  on  the  dusty,  uncarpeted 
floor.  On  the  mantel-shelf  stood  a  lyre-shaped  clock, 
bearing  the  sun  symbol  of  Louis  XIV. ;  several  cheap 
and  gaudy  vases,  and  many  fantastic  shells  picked  up 
on  South  Sea  beaches.  Here  and  there  were  Japanese 
curios,  Polynesian  mats  and  war  weapons;  uncouth 
Chinese  idols,  stuffed  birds,  Indian  ivory  carvings, 
photographs  and  paintings  of  various  ships,  and  all 
the  flotsam  and  jetsam  which  collects  in  a  sailor's  sea- 
chest  during  endless  voyages.  The  deal  table  was 
littered  with  old  magazines,  yellow-backed  novels, 
and  navigation  books  with  ragged  covers;  while 
the  fire-place  was  a  species  of  dust-bin  for  matches, 
cigar-ends,  torn  papers,  orange  peel,  and  such  like. 
Everywhere  the  dust  lay  thick.  It  was  an  odd 
room — at  once  sumptuous  and  dingy,  markedly 
chaotic,  yet  orderly  in  an  untidy  way.  It  reflected 
more  or  less  the  mind  of  its  present  owner,  who,  as  has 
been  before  remarked,  camped,  rather  than  lived, 
amidst  his  surroundings.  In  the  same  way  do  Eastern 
nomads  house  in  the  ruined  palaces  of  kings. 

Silas  Pence,  who  was  the  minister  of  the  Little 
Bethel  Chapel  in  Marshely  village,  curled  his  long 
thin  legs  under  his  chair  and  looked  anxiously  at  his 
meditative  host.  That  portion  of  the  light  from  the 
casement  not  intercepted  by  Huxham's  bulky  figure, 
revealed  a  lean,  eager  face,  framed  in  sparse,  fair 
hair,  parted  in  the  centre  and  falling  untidily  on  the 
coat  collar.  The  young  preacher's  features  were 
sharply  defined  and  somewhat  mean,  while  a  short  and 


io  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

scanty  beard  scarcely  concealed  his  sensitive  mouth. 
His  forehead  was  lofty,  his  chin  weak,  and  his  grey 
eyes  glittered  in  a  strange,  fanatical  fashion.  There 
were  exceptional  possibilities  both  for  good  and  evil 
in  that  pale  countenance,  and  it  could  be  guessed  that 
environment  would  have  much  to  do  with  the  develop- 
ment of  such  possibilities.  Mr.  Pence  was  arrayed 
in  a  tightly-fitting  frock  coat  and  loose  trousers,  both 
of  worn  broadcloth.  He  wore  also  a  low  collar  with 
a  white  tie,  bow-fashion,  white  socks,  and  low-heeled 
shoes,  and  every  part  of  his  attire,  although  neat  and 
well-brushed  and  well-mended,  revealed  dire  poverty. 
On  the  whole,  he  had  the  rapt  ascetic  gaze  of  a  me- 
diaeval saint,  and  a  monkish  robe  would  have  suited 
him  better  than  his  semi-ecclesiastical  garb  as  a  Non- 
conformist preacher. 

But  if  Pence  resembled  a  saint,  Huxham  might 
have  passed  for  a  grey  old  badger,  sullen  and  infinitely 
wary.  Having  taken  stock  of  his  worldly  possessions, 
recalling  meanwhile  a  not  altogether  spotless  past,  he 
brought  his  shrewd  eyes  back  again  to  his  visitor's 
attentive  face.  Still  anxious  to  gain  time  for  further 
consideration,  he  remarked  once  more,  "So'  y'  want 
t'  merry  m'  gel,  Bella,  Mr.  Pence?  Jus'  so!  Jus' 
so!" 

The  other  replied,  in  a  musical  but  high-pitched 
voice  almost  feminine  in  its  timbre,  "I  am  not  comely ; 
I  am  not  wealthy ;  nor  do  I  sit  in  the  seat  of  the  rulers. 
But  the  Lord  has  gifted  me  with  a  pleading  tongue, 
an  admiring  eye,  and  an  admonishing  nature.  With 
Isabella  by  my  side,  Brother  Huxham,  I  can  lead  more 
hopefully  our  little  flock  towards  the  pleasant  land  of 
Beulah.    What  says  Isaiah?" 

"Dunno!"  confessed  the  mariner.  "Ain't  bin 
readin'  Isaiaher's  log  lately." 

"Thou  shalt  be  called  Hephzibah,"  quoted  Mr. 
Pence  shrilly,  "and  thy  land  Beulah :  for  the  Lord  de- 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  n 

lighteth  in  thee,  and  thy  land  will  be  married." 

"Didn't  know  es  Isaiaher  knew  of  m'  twenty  acres," 
growled  Huxham,  with  another  turn  of  his  quid; 
"  'course  ef  it  be,  es  y'  merry  Bella,  th'  land  goes  with 
her  when  I  fits  int'  m'  little  wooden  overcoat.  Y'  kin 
take  yer  davy  on  thet,  Mr.  Pence,  fur  I've  a  conscience, 
I  hev, — let  'em  say  contrary  es  likes." 

It  must  have  been  an  uneasy  conscience,  for  Cap- 
tain Huxham  glared  defiantly  at  his  visitor,  and  then 
cast  a  doubtful  look  over  his  left  shoulder,  as  though 
he  expected  to  be  tapped  thereon.  Pence  was  puz- 
zled as  much  by  this  behaviour  as  by  the  literal  way 
in  which  the  sailor  had  taken  the  saying  of  the  prophet. 
"Isaiah  spoke  in  parables,"  he  explained,  lamely. 

"Maybe,"  grunted  Huxham,  "but  y'  speak  sraight 
'nough,  Mr.  Pence.  Touching  this  merrage.  Y*  love 
Bella,  es  I  take  it?" 

"I  call  her  Hephzibah,"  burst  out  the  young  min- 
ister enthusiastically,  "which,  being  interpreted, 
means — my  delight  is  in  her." 

"Jus'  so!  Jus'  so!  But  does  th*  gel  love  you,  Mr. 
Pence?" 

The  face  of  the  suitor  clouded.  "I  have  my 
doubts,"  he  sighed,  "seeing  that  she  has  looked  upon 
vanity  in  the  person  of  a  man  from  Babylon." 

"Damn  your  parables!"  snapped  the  captain;  "put 
a  blamed  name  t'  him." 

"Mr.  Cyril  Lister,"  began  Pence,  and  was  about  to 
reprove  his  host  for  the  use  of  strong  language,  when 
he  was  startled  by  much  worse.  And  Huxham  grew 
purple  in  the  face  when  using  it. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  set  down  the  exact  words,  but 
the  fluency  and  originality  and  picturesqueness  of  the 
retired  mariner's  speech  made  Silas  close  his  scanda- 
lised ears.  With  many  adjectives  of  the  most  lurid 
description,  the  preacher  understood  Huxham  to  say 
that  he  would  see  his  daughter  grilling  in  the  nether- 


12  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

most  pit  of  Tophet  before  he  would  permit  his  daugh- 
ter to  marry  this — adjective,  double  adjective — swab 
from  London. 

"I  ain't  seen  th'  blighter,"  bellowed  the  captain, 
furiously,  "but  I've  heard  of  his  blessed  name.  Bella 
met  him  et  thet  blamed  Miss  Ankers',  the  schoolmis- 
tress', house,  she  did.  Sh'  wanted  him  t'  kim  an'  see 
this  old  shanty,  'cause  he  writes  fur  the  noospapers, 
cuss  him.  But  I  up  an'  tole  her,  es  I'd  twist  her 
damned  neck  ef  she  spoke  agin  with  the  lop-sided  — " 

"Stop!  stop!"  remonstrated  Pence  feebly.  "We 
are  all  brothers  in " 

"The  lubber  ain't  no  relative  o'  mine,  hang  him; 
an'  y'  too,  fur  sayin'  so.  Oh,  Lister,  Lister!"  Hux-. 
ham  swung  two  huge  fists  impotently.     "I  hate  him." 

"Why?  why?  why?"  babbled  the  visitor  incoher- 
ently. 

The  surprise  in  his  tones  brought  Huxham  to  his 
calmer  senses,  like  the  cunning  old  badger  he  was. 

"  'Cause  I  jolly  well  do,"  he  snorted,  wiping  his 
perspiring  face  with  a  flaunting  red  and  yellow  ban- 
dana. "But  it  don't  matter  nohow,  and  I  arsk  yer 
pardon  fur  gittin'  up  steam.  My  gel  don't  merry  no 
Lister,  y'  kin  lay  yer  soul  t'  thet,  Mr.  Pence.  Lister! 
Lister!"  He  slipped  off  the  sill  in  his  excitement.  "I 
hates  the  whole  damned  breed  of  'em;  sea-cooks  all, 
es  oughter  t'  hev  their  silly  faces  in  the  slush  tub." 

"Do  you  know  the  Lister  family  then?"  asked 
Pence,  open-mouthed  at  this  vehemence. 

This  remark  cooled  the  captain  still  further. 
"Shut  yer  silly  mouth,"  he  growled,  rolling  por- 
poise-fashion across  the  room,  "and  wait  till  I  git  m' 
breath  back  int'  m'  bellers." 

Being  a  discreet  young  man,  Pence  took  the  hint 
and  silently  watched  the  squat,  ungainly  figure  of  his 
host  lunging  and  plunging  in  the  narrow  confines  of 
the  apartment.     Whatever  may  have  been  the  reason, 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  13 

it  was  evident  that  the  name  of  Lister  acted  like  a  red 
rag  to  this  nautical  bull.  Pence  ran  over  in  his  mind 
what  he  knew  of  the  young  stranger,  to  see  if  he 
could  account  for  this  outbreak.  He  could  recall 
nothing  pertinent.  Cyril  Lister  had  come  to  remain 
in  Marshely  some  six  months  previously,  and  declared 
himself  to  be  a  journalist  in  search  of  quiet,  for  the 
purpose  of  writing  a  novel.  He  occupied  a  tiny  cot- 
tage in  the  village,  and  was  looked  after  by  Mrs. 
Block,  a  stout,  gossiping  widow,  who  spoke  well  of 
her  master.  So  far  as  Pence  knew,  Captain  Huxham 
had  never  set  eyes  on  the  stranger,  and  could  not  pos- 
sibly know  anything  of  him  or  of  his  family.  Yet, 
from  his  late  outburst  of  rage,  it  was  apparent  that 
he  hated  the  young  man. 

Lister  sometimes  went  to  London,  but  for  the  most 
part  remained  in  the  village,  writing  his  novel  and 
making  friends  with  the  inhabitants.  At  the  house 
of  the  board-school  mistress  he  had  met  Bella  Hux- 
ham, and  the  two  had  been  frequently  in  one  another's 
company,  in  spite  of  the  captain's  prohibition.  But 
it  was  evident  that  Huxham  knew  nothing  of 
their  meetings.  Pence  did,  however,  and  resented 
that  the  girl  should  prefer  Lister's  company  to  his 
own.  He  was  very  deeply  in  love,  and  it  rejoiced  his 
heart  when  he  heard  how  annoyed  the  captain  was  at 
the  mere  idea  of  a  marriage  between  Lister  and  his 
daughter.  The  preacher  was  by  no  means  a  selfish 
man,  or  a  bad  man,  but  being  in  love  he  naturally 
wished  to  triumph  over  his  rival.  He  now  knew  that  his 
suit  would  be  supported  by  Huxham,  if  only  out  of 
his  inexplicable  hatred  for  the  journalist. 

Meanwhile  Huxham  stamped  and  muttered,  and 
wiped  his  broad  face  as  he  walked  off  his  anger.  Fi- 
nally he  stopped  opposite  his  visitor  and  waved  him  to 
the  door.  Y'  shell  merry  m'  gel,  Bella,"  he  announced 
hoarsely;  "m'  conscience  won't  let  me  merry  her  t' 


14  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

thet — thet — oh,  cuss  him!  why  carn't  he  an'  the  likes 
o'  he  keep  away!"  He  paused,  and  again  cast  an  un- 
comfortable look  over  his  left  shoulder.  "Kim  up  on 
th'  roof,"  he  said  abruptly,  driving  Pence  into  the  en- 
trance hall.  "I'll  show  y'  wot  I'll  give  y'  with  m'  gel 
— on  conditions." 

"Conditions!"     The  preacher  was  bewildered. 

Huxham  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  mounted  the 
shallow  steps  of  the  grand  staircase.  The  manor-house 
was  large  and  rambling,  and  of  great  age,  having 
been  built  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VII.  The  rooms  were 
spacious,  the  corridors  wide,  and  the  ceilings  lofty. 
The  present  possessor  led  his  guest  up  the  stairs  into 
a  long,  broad  passage,  with  many  doors  leading  into 
various  bedrooms.  At  the  end  he  opened  a  smaller 
door  to  reveal  a  narrow  flight  of  steep  steps.  Fol- 
lowed by  the  minister,  Huxham  ascended  these,  and  the 
two  emerged  through  a  wooden  trap-door  on  the  roof. 
Silas  then  beheld  a  moderately  broad  space  running 
parallel  with  the  passage  below,  and  extending  from 
one  parapet  to  the  other.  On  either  side  of  this  walk 
— as  it  might  be  termed — the  red-tiled  roofs  sloped 
abruptly  upward  to  cover  the  two  portions  of  the  man- 
sion, here  joined  by  the  flat  leads  forming  the  walk 
aforesaid.  On  the  slope  of  the  left  roof,  looking  from 
the  trap-door,  was  a  wooden  ladder  which  led  up  to 
a  small  platform,  also  of  wood,  built  round  the  emerg- 
ing chimney  stack.  This  was  Captain  Huxham's 
quarter  deck,  whither  he  went  on  occasions  to  sur- 
vey his  property.  He  clambered  up  the  ladder  with 
the  agility  of  a  sailor,  in  spite  of  his  age,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  preacher  with  some  misgivings.  These 
proved  to  be  correct,  for  when  he  reached  the  quar- 
ter-deck, the  view  which  met  his  startled  eyes  so 
shook  his  nerve,  that  he  would  have  fallen  but  that 
the  captain  propped  him  up  against  the  broad  brick- 
work of  the  chimney. 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  15 

"Oh,  me,"  moaned  the  unfortunate  Silas,  holding 
on  tightly  to  the  iron  clamps  of  the  brick-work.  "I 
am  throned  on  a  dangerous  eminence,"  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

"Open  'em,  open  'em,"  commanded  the  captain 
gruffly,  "an'  jes'  look  et  them  twenty  acres  of  corn, 
es  y'll  git  with  m'  gel  when  I'm  a  deader." 

Pence  slipped  into  a  sitting  position  and  looked  as 
directed.  He  beheld  from  his  dizzy  elevation  the  roll- 
ing marshland,  extending  from  the  far-distant  stream 
of  the  Thames  to  the  foot  of  low-lying  inland  hills. 
As  it  was  July,  and  the  sun  shone  strongly,  the 
marshes  were  comparatively  dry,  but  here  and  there 
Pence  beheld  pools  and  ditches  flashing  like  jewels 
in  the  yellow  radiance.  Immediately  before  him  he 
could  see  the  village  of  Marshely,  not  so  very  far 
away,  with  red-roofed  houses  gathered  closely  round 
the  grey,  square  tower  of  the  church;  he  could  even 
see  the  tin  roof  of  his  own  humble  Bethel  gleaming 
like  silver  in  the  sunlight.  And  here  and  there,  dot- 
ted indiscriminately,  were  lonely  houses,  single  huts, 
clumps  of  trees,  and  on  the  higher  ground  rising  in- 
land, more  villages  similar  to  Marshely.  The  flat  and 
perilously  green  lands  were  divided  by  hedges  and 
ditches  and  fences  into  squares  and  triangles  and  ob- 
longs and  rectangles,  all  as  emerald-hued  as  faery 
rings.  The  human  habitations  were  so  scattered,  that 
it  looked  as  though  some  careless  genii  had  dropped 
them  by  chance  when  flying  overhead.  Far  away 
glittered  the  broad  stream  of  the  Thames,  with  ships 
and  steamers  and  boats  and  barges  moving,  outward 
and  inward  bound,  on  its  placid  surface.  The  rigid 
line  of  the  railway  shot  straightly  through  villages 
and  trees  and  occasional  cuttings,  across  the  verdant 
expanse,  with  here  and  there  a  knot  representing  a 
station.  Smoke  curled  from  the  tall  chimneys  of  the 
dynamite  factories  near  the  river,  and  silvery  puffs  of 


16  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

steam  showed  that  a  train  was  on  its  way  to  Tilbury. 
All  was  fresh,  restful,  beautiful,  and  so  intensely 
green  as  to  be  suggestive  of  early  Spring  bud- 
dings. 

"When  I  took  command  of  this  here  farm,  ten  years 
back,"  observed  Captain  Huxham,  drawing  in  a  deep 
breath  of  moist  air,  "it  were  water-logged  like  a  de- 
relict, es  y'  might  say.  Cast  yer  weather-eye  over  it 
now,  Mr.  Pence,  an'  wot's  yer  look-out:  a  gardin  of 
Edin,  smilin'  with  grain." 

"Yet  it's  a  derelict  still,"  remarked  the  preacher, 
struggling  to  his  feet  and  holding  on  by  the  chimney ; 
"let  me  examine  your  farm  of  Bleacres." 

Bleacres — a  corruption  of  bleakacres — consisted 
of  only  twenty  acres  not  at  all  bleak,  but  a  mere  slice 
out  of  the  wide  domains  formerly  owned  by  the  aris- 
tocratic family  dispossessed  by  Huxham.  It  ex- 
tended all  round  the  ancient  manor-house,  which 
stood  exactly  in  the  centre,  and  every  foot  of  it  was 
sown  with  corn.  On  every  side  waved  the  greenish- 
bluish  crop,  now  almost  breast  high.  It  rolled  right 
up  to  the  walls  of  the  house,  so  that  this  was  drowned, 
so  to  speak,  in  the  ocean  of  grain.  The  various  fields 
were  divided  and  subdivided  by  water-ways  wide  and 
narrow,  which  drained  the  land,  and  these  gave  the 
place  quite  a  Dutch  look,  as  fancy  might  picture  them 
as  canals.  But  the  corn  grew  everywhere  so  tlfick 
and  high,  in  contrast  to  the  barren  marshes,  that  the 
farm  looked  almost  aggressively  cultivated.  Bleacres 
was  widely  known  as  "The  Solitary  Farm,"  for  there 
was  not  another  like  it  for  many  miles,  though  why 
it  should  have  been  left  to  a  retired  sailor  to  cultivate 
the  soil  it  is  hard  to  say.  But  Huxham  for  many 
years  had  sown  corn  on  his  twenty  acres,  so  that  the 
mansion  for  the  most  part  of  the  year  was  quite  shut 
off  from  the  world.  Only  a  narrow  path  was  left, 
which  meandered   from  the   front  door  and   across 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  17 

various  water-ways  to  Marshely  village,  one  mile 
distant.  In  no  other  way  save  by  this  path  could  the 
mansion  be  approached.  And  as  guardian  of  the 
place  a  red-coated  scarecrow  stood  sentinel  a  stone- 
throw  from  the  house.  The  bit  of  brilliant  colour 
looked  gay  amidst  the  rolling  acres  of  green. 

"The  domain  of  Ceres,"  said  Pence  dreamily,  and 
recalling  his  meagre  classical  studies;  "here  the  god- 
dess might  preside.  Yet,"  he  added  again,  with  a 
side  glance  at  his  rugged  host,  "a  derelict  still." 

"Mr.  Pence  don't  know  the  English  langwidge,  ap- 
parently," said  Huxham,  addressing  the  landscape 
with  a  pitying  smile.  "A  derelict's  a  ship  aband- 
oned." 

"And  a  derelict,"  insisted  Pence,  "can  also  be  de- 
scribed as  a  tract  of  land  left  dry  by  the  sea,  and  fit 
for  cultivation  or  use.  You  will  find  that  explanation 
in  Nuttall's  Standard  Dictionary,  captain." 

"Live  an'  larn ;  live  an'  larn,"  commented  Huxham, 
accepting  the  explanation  without  question;  "but  I 
ain't  got  no  use  for  dix'onaries  m'self.  Made  m'  dol- 
lars to  buy  this  here  farm  without  sich  truck." 

"In  what  way,  captain?"  asked  Silas  absently,  and 
looked  at  the  view. 

Had  he  looked  instead  at  Huxham's  weather- 
•beaten  face  he  might  have  been  surprised.  The  captain 
grew  a  little  trifle  paler  under  his  bronze,  an  uneasy 
look  crept  into  his  hard  blue  eyes,  and  he  threw  an- 
other anxious  glance  over  his  shoulder.  But  a 
stealthy  examination  of  the  minister's  indifferent 
countenance  assured  him  that  the  question,  although 
a  leading  one,  had  been  asked  in  all  innocence.  And 
"in  all  innocence  the  captain  replied,  for  the  momentary 
pause  haci  given  him  time  to  frame  his  reply. 

"I  arned  m'  dollars,  Mr.  Pence,  es  an  honest  man 
should,  by  sweatin*  on  th'  high  an*  narrer  seas  these 
forty  year'.    Ran  away  fro'  m'  father,  es  wos  a  cob- 


18  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

bier,"  added  Huxham,  addressing  the  landscape  once 
more,  "when  I  wos  ten  year  old,  an'  a  hop-me-thumb 
et  thet,  es  y'  could  hev  squeezed  int'  a  pint  pot.  Cabin 
boy,  A.-B.,  mate,  fust  an'  second,  and  a  skipper  by  m' 
own  determination  t'  git  top-hole.  Likewise  hard 
tack,  cold  quarters,  kickin's  an'  brimstone  langwidge 
es  would  hev  made  thet  hair  of  yours  curl  tremenjous, 
Mr.  Pence.  I  made  'nough  when  fifty  an'  more,  t' 
buy  this  here  farm,  an'  this  here  house,  th'  roof  of 
which  I've  walked  quarter-deck  fashion,  es  y'  see, 
these  ten  years — me  bein'  sixty  odd,  so  t'  speak. 
AVaitin'  now  fur  a  hail  t'  jine  th'  angels,  an'  Mrs. 
Arabeller  Huxham,  who  is  a  flier  with  a  halo,  an'  ex- 
pectin'  me  aloft,  es  she  remarked  frequent  when 
chokin'  in  her  engine  pipes.  Asthma  et  wos,"  finished 
the  widower,  spitting  out  some  tobacco  juice,  "es  set- 
tled her  hash." 

This  astonishing  speech,  delivered  with  slow  gruff- 
ness,  did  not  startle  Silas,  as  he  had  known  Cap- 
tain Huxham  for  at  least  five  years,  and  had  before 
remarked  upon  his  eccentric  way  of  talking.  "Very 
interesting;  very  commendable,"  he  murmured,  and 
returned  to  the  object  of  his  visit.  "And  your 
daughter,  sir?" 

"Y'  shell  hev  her,  an'  hev  this  here,"  the  captain 
waved  his  hand  to  the  four  points  of  the  compass, 
"when  I  jine  the  late  Mrs.  Arabeller  Huxham,  ef  y' 
— ef  y' — thet  is "  he  halted  dubiously. 

"If  what?"  demanded  Pence,  unsuspiciously. 

"Ef  y'  chuck  thet  Lister  int'  one  of  them  water- 
ways," said  Huxham. 

"What?"  cried  the  preacher,  considerably  startled. 

"I  want  him  dead,"  growled  Huxham  gruffly, 
"drown  dead  an'  buried." 

Perhaps  his  sojourn  in  distant  lands  on  the  fringes 
of  the  empire  had  familiarised  the  captain  with  sud- 
den death  and  murder,   for  he  made  this   amazing 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  19 

proposition  in  a  calm  and  cheerful  voice.  But  the 
minister  was  not  so  steeled  to  horrors. 

"What?"  he  repeated  in  a  shaking  voice  and  with 
dilated  eyes. 

"All  fur  you,"  murmured  the  tempter  persuasively, 
"every  blamed  acre  of  et,  t'  say  nothing  of  Bella  es  is 
a  fine  gel,  an' " 

"No,  no,  no!"  cried  Silas  vehemently,  spreading 
his  hands  across  his  lean,  agitated  face,  "how  dare 
you  ask  such  a  thing  ?" 

"Jus'  a  push,"  went  on  Huxham  softly,  "he  bein'  on 
the  edge  of  one  of  them  ditches,  es  y'  might  say.  Wot 
th'  water  gits  th'  water  holds.  He'd  go  down  int'  the 
black  slime  an'  never  come  up.  It  'ud  choke  him. 
Cuss  me,"  murmured  Huxham  softly,  "I'd  like  t'  see 
the  black  slime  choke  a  Lister." 

Pence  gasped  again  and  recalled  how  the  Evil  One 
had  taken  the  Saviour  of  men  up  to  an  exceedingly 
high  mountain,  to  show  Him  the  kingdoms  of  the 
world  and  the  glory  of  them.  "All  these  things  will 
I  give  thee,"  said  Satan,  "if " 

"No!"   shouted   Silas,   his   eyes   lighting   up   with 

wrath.     "Get  thee  behind  me "     Before  finishing 

his  sentence,  and  before  Huxham  could  reply,  he 
scrambled  down  the  ladder  to  rush  for  the  open  trap. 
The  captain  leaned  from  his  quarter-deck  scornfully. 
"Y'  needn't  say  es  I  gave  y'  the  chance,  fur  no  one  'ull 
believe  y',"  he  cried  out,  coolly,  "an'  a  milksop  y'  are. 
Twenty  acres,  a  house,  an'  a  fine  gel — y'd  be  set  up  for 
life,  ef  y'd  only  push " 

Pence  heard  no  more.  In  a  frenzy  of  horror  he 
dropped  through  the  trap-door,  inwardly  praying  that 
he  might  be  kept  from  temptation.  Huxham  saw 
him  vanish  and  scowled.  "Blamed  milky  swab,"  he 
grumbled,  then  turned  to  survey  the  bribe  he  had  of- 
fered for  wilful  murder.  He  looked  at  the  corn  and 
across  the  corn  uneasily,  as  though  he  saw  danger  in 


20  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

the  distance.  "No  cause  to  be  afeared,"  muttered  the 
ex-mariner;  "he  can't  get  through  the  com.  It  keeps 
me  safe  anyhow." 

But  who  the  "he"  referred  to  might  be,  Huxham 
did  not  say. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  WOOIN'  O't. 

Imagine  a  man  wrapped  from  infancy  in  the  cotton 
wool  of  civilisation  suddenly  jerked  out  of  the  same 
into  barbaric  nakedness.  Deprived  of  the  strong  pro- 
tection of  the  law,  brought  suddenly  face  to  face  with 
the  "might-is-right"  theory,  he  would  have  to  fight  for 
his  own  land,  even  to  the  extent  of  slaying  anyone  who 
thwarted  his  needs.  Such  a  man,  amazed  and  horri- 
fied at  first,  would  gradually  become  accustomed  to 
his  Ishmael  existence,  since  habit  is  second  nature. 
Silas  Pence  felt  sick  when  he  reflected  on  the  offer 
made  by  Captain  Huxham,  and  to  him  of  all  people— 
a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  a  follower  of  the  Prince  of 
Peace.  For  the  first  time  in  his  guarded  life,  he  be- 
came aware  of  the  evil  which  underlies  the  smiling 
surface  of  things,  and  it  was  as  though  an  abyss  had 
opened  suddenly  at  his  feet.  But  although  he  did  not 
know  it  at  the  time,  the  seed  had  been  sown  in  his 
heart  at  the  right  moment,  and  would  germinate  al- 
most without  his  knowledge.  In  a  few  days  Silas 
could  look  back  at  the  horrifying  suggestion  with 
calmness,  and  could  even  consider  the  advantages  it 
offered. 

But  just  now  he  felt  sick,  physically  sick,  and  de- 
scending with  trembling  limbs  to  the  ground  floor  of 
the  house,  staggered  towards  the  hall  and  door.  All  he 
desired  was  to  get  away,  and  put  the  cornfields  be- 
tween himself  and  the  evil  atmosphere  of  Bleacres. 
But  his  legs  failed  him  as  he  laid  hands  on  the  latch, 
and  he  sank  white-faced  and  shaking  into  a  chair. 


22  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

In  this  state  he  was  discovered  by  Mrs.  Coppersley, 
the  captain's  sister  and  housekeeper.  She  was  a 
buxom,  amiable  woman,  with  a  fixed  smile  meaning 
nothing.  The  expression  of  her  rosy  face  changed  to 
one  of  alarm  when  she  saw  the  heap  in  the  chair. 
"Save  us,  Mr.  Pence,  what's  wrong?" 

Pence  was  about  to  break  forth  into  a  denuncia- 
tion of  Huxham's  wickedness,  but  a  timely  recollec- 
tion of  the  captain's  last  words — that  his  story  would 
not  be  believed — made  him  pause.  After  all,  Hux- 
ham  was  well  known  as  a  decent  man  and  an  open- 
Ihanded  friend  to  one  and  all,  so  there  was  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  telling  a  truth  which  would  certainly 
be  scoffed  at.  The  preacher  changed  his  mind  in  one 
swift  instant,  and  replied  nervously  to  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley's  inquiry.  "I  have  been  on  the  quarter-deck,  and 
it  made  me  dizzy.    I  am  not  accustomed  to " 

"Drat  that  brother  of  mine,"  interrupted.  Mrs. 
Coppersley  angrily,  "he  got  me  up  there  once,  and  I 
thought  I'd  never  come  down.  Here,  Mr.  Pence,  you 
hold  up  while  I  get  you  a  sup  of  rum." 

"No,  no!  Strong  drink  leads  us  into  desperate 
ways,"  protested  the  preacher.  But  Mrs.  Coppersley 
was  gone,  and  had  returned  before  he  could  make  up 
his  mind  to  fly  temptation.  Silas  was  not  used  to  al- 
cohol, but  the  shock  he  had  sustained  in  learning  so 
much  of  Huxham's  true  nature  prevented  his  exer- 
cising his  usual  self-control.  With  his  highly  strung 
nerves  he  was  half-hysterical,  and  so,  when  forced  by 
kindly  Mrs.  Coppersley,  readily  drank  half  a  tumbler 
of  rum  slightly  diluted  with  water. 

"Drink  it  all,  there's  a  good  soul,"  entreated  the 
housekeeper,  forcing  the  glass  to  his  lips. 

"No!"  He  pushed  it  away.  "I  feel  better  al- 
ready!" and  he  did,  for  the  strong  spirit  brought  col- 
our to  his  cheek  and  new  strength  to  his  limbs.  He 
stood  up  in  a  few  minutes,  quite  himself,  and  indeed 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  23 

more  than  himself,  since  the  rum  put  into  him  more 
courage  than  came  by  nature.  "Wine  maketh  glad 
the  heart  of  man,"  said  Silas,  in  excuse  for  his  un- 
usual indulgence. 

"Rum  isn't  wine,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  with  a 
jolly  laugh,  "it's  something  much  better,  Mr.  Pence. 
Now  you  go  home  and  lie  down." 

"Oh,  no!  I  feel  as  though  I  could  charge  an 
army."  said  Pence  valiantly. 

"Then  wait  in  the  study."  She  indicated  the  pan- 
elled room  with  a  jerk  of  her  head.  "Jabez  will  be 
down  from  his  quarter-deck  soon." 

"No."  Pence  shivered,  in  spite  of  the  rum,  at  the 
thought  of  again  having  to  face  his  tempter.  "I 
must  go  now,  My  presence  is  required  in  the 
village." 

"Then  you  can  take  a  message  for  me  to  Mr.  Vand," 
said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  with  a  slight  accession  of 
colour  to  her  already  florid  face.  "Say  that  I  am 
coming  to  Marshely  about  seven  o'clock,  and  will  call 
at  the  shop." 

This  request  changed  Pence  into  the  preacher  and 
the  leader  of  the  godly  people  who  called  his  chapel 
their  fold.  Vand  was  the  son  of  the  woman  who  kept 
the  village  grocery  shop,  and  a  cripple  who  played  the 
violin  at  various  local  concerts.  He  was  at  least  ten 
years  younger  than  Mrs.  Coppersley,  who  confessed 
to  being  thirty-five — though  probably  she  was  older — 
and  the  way  in  which  the  widow  ran  after  him  was 
something  of  a  scandal.  As  both  Mrs.  Coppersley 
and  Henry  Vand  were  members  of  Little  Bethel,  Silas 
felt  that  he  was  entitled  to  inquire  into  the  matter. 
"You  ask  me  to  take  such  a  message,  sister?"  he  de- 
manded austerely. 

The  widow's  face  flamed,  and  her  eyes  sparkled. 
"There  is  no  shame  in  it  that  I  am  aware  of,  Mr. 
Pence,"  she  declared  violently;  "if  I  choose  to  marry 


24  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

again,  that's  no  one's  business  but  mine,  I  take 
it." 

"Oh,  so  you  desire  to  marry  Henry  Vand?"  said 
Pence,  amazed. 

"It's  not  a  question  of  desiring,"  said  the  buxom 
woman  impatiently.  "Henry  and  I  have  arranged 
to  be  married  this  summer." 

"He  is  a  cripple." 

"I  know  that,"  she  snapped,  "and  therefore  needs 
the  care  of  a  wife." 

"His  mother  looks  after  him,"  protested  Pence 
weakly. 

"Does  she?"  inquired  Mrs.  Coppersley.  "I 
thought  she  looked  after  no  one  but  herself.  She's 
that  selfish  as  never  was,  so  don't  you  go  to  defend 
her,  Mr.  Pence.  Henry,  poor  boy,  who  is  an  angel, 
if  ever  there  was  one,  is  quite  neglected ;  so  I  am  go- 
ing to  marry  him  and  look  after  him.  So  there!" 
and  Mrs.  Coppersley,  placing  her  hands  akimbo,  de- 
fied her  pastor. 

"Henry  has  no  money,"  said  Pence,  finding  another 
objection. 

"As  to  that,"  remarked  Mrs.  Coppersley  indiffer- 
ently, "when  my  brother  dies  I'll  have  money  for  us 
both,  and  this  house  into  the  bargain." 

"You  will  have  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Silas, 
surprised  into  saying  more  than  was  wise.  "Your 
brother's  daughter  will  inherit  this " 

"Oh,  will  she?"  cried  Mrs.  Coppersley  violently, 
and  much  you  know  about  it,  Mr.  Pence.  When  my 
late  husband,  who  was  a  ship's  steward,  and  saving, 
died  ten  year  ago,  I  lent  my  brother  some  money  to 
add  to  his  own,  so  that  he  might  buy  Bleacres.  He 
agreed  that  if  I  did  so,  I  should  inherit  the  house  and 
the  land.  I  promised  to  look  after  Bella  until  she  got 
married,  and " 

"Mrs.  Coppersley,"  said  Pence,  with  an  effort  at 


i< 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  25 

firmness,  "your  brother  told  me  only  lately  that  if  I 
married  Bella,  he  would  give  her  the  farm  and  the 
house  when  he  died,  so " 

"Ho,  indeed,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Coppersley  wrath- 
fully,  "pretty  goings  on,  I'm  sure.  You  call  yourself 
a  pastor,  Mr.  Pence,  and  come  plotting  to  rob  me  of 
what  is  mine.  I  take  everything,  and  Bella  nothing, 
so  you  can  put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it,  though 
you  ain't  man  enough  to  smoke  even  a  penny  cigar. 
You  marry  Bella?  Why,  she's  as  good  as  engaged 
to  that  young  Lister,  who  has  got  more  gumption 
about  him  than  you  have." 

"I  advise  you,"  said  Pence,  and  his  voice  sounded 
strangely  in  his  own  ears,  "not  to  tell  your  brother 
that  his  daughter  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Lister." 

"I  never  said  that  she  was.    But " 

"There  is  no  but.  The  mere  mention  of  such  an 
engagement  would  send    Captain    Huxham    crazy." 

"In  heaven's  name,  why?"  gasped  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley,  looking  the  picture  of  stout  amazement  and  sit- 
ting down  heavily. 

"Because  for  some  reason  he  hates  Mr.  Lister,  and 
would  kill  him  rather  than  accept  him  as  his  son-in- 
law." 

Mrs.  Coppersley's  florid  face  turned  quite  pale. 
Evidently  she  knew  what  her  brother  was  like  when 
roused.  "Why  should  Jabez  hate  Mr.  Lister?"  she 
asked. 

"You  had  better  ask  him,"  said  Pence,  opening  the 
hall  door;  then  to  soften  his  abruptness  he  added, 
"I'll  tell  Henry  Vand  that  you  will  see  him."  After 
which  he  departed,  leaving  Mrs.  Coppersley  still  pale 
and  still  gasping. 

After  all  there  was  no  reason  why  the  ship  stew- 
ard's widow  would  not  marry  the  young  man.  Vand 
was  handsome  in  a  refined  way,  and  very  clever  as  a 
musician.  He  was  only  slightly  crippled,  too,  and  could 


26  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

get  about  with  the  aid  of  a  stick.  All  the  same,  he 
needed  someone  to  look  after  him,  and  as  his  own 
mother  did  not  do  so — as  was  notorious — why  should 
he  not  become  Mrs.  Coppersley's  husband?  The  dis- 
parity in  age  did  not  matter,  as  Vand,  in  spite  of  his 
good  looks,  was  club-footed  and  poor.  But  Pence 
doubted  if  Mrs.  Coppersley  would  inherit  Bleacres  af- 
ter Captain  Huxham's  death,  in  spite  of  the  arrange- 
ment between  them.  Unless — and  here  was  the 
chance  for  the  housekeeper — unless  Bella  married 
Lister,  notwithstanding  her  father's  opposition.  In 
that  event,  Huxham  would  assuredly  disinherit  her. 
"I'll  point  this  out  to  her,"  said  the  preacher,  as  he  left 
the  manor-house,  "and  urge  my  suit.  Common-sense 
will  make  her  yield  to  my  prayers.     Moreover,  I  can 

plead,  and "  here  he  smiled  complacently  as  he 

thought  of  his  pulpit  eloquence.  Besides,  the  unac- 
customed spirit  of  the  rum  was  still  keeping  him 
brave. 

Pence  sauntered  in  the  glowing  sunshine  down  the 
narrow  path  which  ran  between  the  standing  corn. 
The  path  was  not  straight.  It  wound  deviously,  as 
though  Huxham  wished  to  make  the  approach  to  his 
abode  as  difficult  as  possible.  Indeed,  it  was  strange 
that  he  should  sow  corn  at  all,  since  corn  at  the  time 
was  not  remunerative.  But  every  year  since  he  had  en- 
tered into  possession  of  Bleacres  the  owner  had  sown 
corn,  and  every  year  there  had  only  been  the  one 
meandering  path  through  the  same,  the  very  path 
which  Pence  was  now  taking.  There  was  evidently 
some  purpose  in  this  sowing,  and  in  the  fact  that  only 
one  pathway  was  left  whereby  to  approach  the  man- 
sion. But  what  that  purpose  might  be,  neither  Pence, 
nor  indeed  anyone  else,  could  guess.  Not  that  they 
gave  it  a  thought.  Huxham  was  presumed  to  be  very 
wealthy,  and  his  farming  was  looked  upon  more  as  a 
hobby  than  a  necessity. 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  27 

The  preacher  brushed  between  the  breast-high  corn, 
and  walked  over  two  or  three  narrow  planks  laid 
across  two  or  three  narrow  ditches.  But  where  the 
corn  ended  was  a  wide  channel,  at  least  ten  feet  broad, 
which  stretched  the  whole  length  of  the  estate  and 
passed  beyond  it  on  its  way  under  the  railway  line  to 
the  distant  river.  The  water-way  ran  straightly  for 
some  distance,  and  then  curved  down  into  the  marshes 
at  its  own  will,  to  spread  into  swamps.  On  one  side 
sprang  the  thick  green  corn,  but  on  the  other  stretched 
waste-lands  up  to  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  one  mile 
distant.  There  was  no  fence  round  Bleacres  at  this 
point.  Apparently,  Huxham  deemed  the  wide  chan- 
nel a  sufficient  protection  to  his  corn,  which  it  assur- 
edly was,  as  no  tramps  ever  trespassed  on  the  land. 
But  then,  Marshely  was  not  a  tramp  village.  The  in- 
habitants were  poor,  and  had  nothing  to  give  in  the 
way  of  charity.  The  loafer  of  the  roads  avoided  the 
locality  for  very  obvious  reasons. 

Before  crossing  the  planks,  which  were  laid  on  mid- 
channel  supporting  tressels  over  the  water-way,  Pence 
looked  from  right  to  left.  The  evening  was  so  very 
beautiful  that  he  thought  he  would  prolong  his  walk 
until  sundown,  and  it  wanted  some  time  to  that  hour. 
He  was  still  indignant  with  Captain  Huxham  for  his 
base  offer,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  ex- 
mariner  was  mad  when  he  made  it.  Pence,  in  his 
simplicity,  could  not  think  that  any  man  could  ask  an- 
other to  kill  a  third  in  cold  blood.  All  the  same,  the 
offer  had  been  made,  and  Silas  found  himself  ask- 
ing why  Huxham  should  desire  the  death  of  a 
stranger  with  whom — so  far  as  the  preacher  knew — 
he  was  not  even  acquainted.  Huxham  had  always  re- 
fused to  permit  Bella  to  bring  Lister  to  Bleacres,  and 
indeed  had  forbidden  her  even  to  speak  to  the  young 
man.  He  therefore  could  not  be  cognisant  of  the  fact, 
stated  by  Mrs.  Coppersley,  that  Lister  and  the  girl 
were  on  the  eve  of  an  engagement. 


28  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

Thus  thinking,  Pence  mechanically  wandered  along 
the  left  bank  of  the  boundary  water-way,  and  found 
himself  near  a  small  hut,  inhabited  by  the  sole  la- 
bourer whom  Huxham  habitually  employed.  He  en- 
gaged others,  of  course,  when  his  fields  were  ploughed, 
and  sown,  and  reaped,  but  Tunks — such  was  the 
euphonious  name  of  the  handy-man — was  in  demand 
all  the  year  round.  He  resided  in  this  somewhat  lonely, 
hut,  along  with  his  grandmother,  a  weird  old  gipsy 
reputed  to  be  a  witch,  and  it  was  this  reputation  which 
set  Mr.  Pence  thinking. 

Remembering  that  Mrs.  Tunks  was  of  the  Romany, 
he  thought,  and  blushed  as  he  thought,  that  it  would 
be  worth  while  to  expend  a  shilling  in  order  to  learn 
if  his  suit  with  Bella  would  really  prosper.  The  tem- 
ple of  fate  was  before  him,  and  the  Sibyl  was  prob- 
ably within,  since  the  smoke  of  cooking  the  evening 
meal  curled  from  the  chimney.  It  was  only  neces- 
sary to  lift  the  latch,  lay  down  a  shilling,  and  inquire. 
But  even  as  the  temptation  drew  him,  he  was  seized 
with  a  feeling  of  shame,  that  he — a  preacher  of  the 
Gospel,  and  the  approved  foe  thereby  of  witches — 
should  think  for  one  moment  of  encouraging  such 
traffic  with  the  Evil  One.  Pence,  blushing  as  red  as 
the  now  setting  sun,  turned  away  hastily,  and  found 
himself-  face  to  face  with  the  very  girl  who  was  caus- 
ing him  such  torment. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Pence?"  said  Bella  Huxham, 
lightly.  "A  lovely  evening,  isn't  it?"  and  she  tried  to 
pass  him  on  the  narrow  path.  Probably  she  was  go- 
ing to  see  the  Witch  of  Endor. 

The  preacher  placed  himself  directly  before  her. 

"Wait  for  one  moment." 

The  girl  did  not  reply  immediately,  but  looked  at 
him  earnestly,  trying  to  guess  what  the  usually  nerv- 
ous preacher  had  to  say.  Bella  looked  more  lovely 
than  ever  in  Pence's  eyes,  as  she  stood  before  him  in 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  29 

her  white  dress  and  bathed  in  the  rosy  glory  of  the  sun- 
set. She  did  not  in  the  least  resemble  her  father  or  her 
aunt,  both  of  whom  were  stout,  uncomely  folk  of  true 
plebeian  type.  Bella  was  aristocratic  in  her  looks, 
as  tall  and  slim  and  willowy  as  a  young  sapling.  Her 
hair  and  eyes  were  dark,  her  face  was  a  perfect  oval 
of  ivory-white  delicately  flushed  with  red,  like  a 
sweet-pea,  and  if  her  chin  was  a  trifle  resolute  and 
hard,  her  mouth  was  perfect.  She  carried  herself  in 
a  haughty  way,  and  had  a  habit  of  bending  her  dark 
brows  so  imperiously,  that  she  reminded  Pence  of 
Judith,  who  killed  Holofernes.  Judith  and  Jael  and 
Deborah  must  have  been  just  such  women. 

"Well?"  asked  Bella,  bending  her  brows  like  an 
empress,  "what  is  it?" 

"I — I — love  you,  Miss  Huxham." 

She  could  not  be  angry  at  so  naive  a  declaration, 
and  one  coming  from  a  man  whom  she  knew  to  be  as 
timid  as  a  hare.  "I  am  somewhat  surprised,  Mr. 
Pence,"  she  replied  demurely,  "are  you  not  making  a 
mistake  ?" 

"No,"  he  stuttered,  flushing  with  eagerness,  for 
amorous  passion  makes  the  most  timid  bold.  "I  have 
loved  you  for  months,  for  years.  I  want  you  to  be  my 
wife — to  share  with  me  the  glorious  privilege  of  lead- 
ing my  flock  to  the  land  of  Beulah,  and " 

"Stop,  stop!"  She  flung  up  her  hand.  "I  assure 
you,  Mr.  Pence,  that  it  is  impossible.  Forget  that  you 
ever  said  anything." 

"I  cannot  forget.     Why  should  I  forget?" 

"You  must  not  ask  a  woman  for  her  reasons,  Mr. 
Pence,"  she  answered!  drily,  "for  a  woman  rtever 
gives  the  true  ones." 

"Bella!" 

'Miss  Huxham  to  you,  Mr.  Pence."    She  spoke  in 
a  chilly  manner. 

"No,"  he  cried  wildly;  "to  me  you  are  Bella.     I 


30  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

think  of  you  by  that  sweet  name  day  and  night.  You 
come  between  me  and  my  work.  When  I  console  the 
afflicted  I  feel  that  I  am  talking  to  you.  When  I 
read  my  Bible,  your  face  comes  between  me  and 
the  sacred  page.  To  me  you  are  Hephzibah — yes, 
and  the  Shulamite.  The  Angel  of  the  Covenant ;  the 
joy  of  my  heart.  Oh,  Bella,  I  love  the  very  ground 
that  you  tread  on.  Can  you  refuse  me?  See!"  He 
threw  himself  on  the  path,  heedless  of  the  fact  that 
Mrs.  Tunks  might  be  at  her  not  far  distant  window. 
"I  am  at  your  feet,  Bella!    Bella!" 

The  girl  was  distressed  by  this  earnestness.  "Rise, 
Mr.  Pence,  someone  will  see  you.  You  must  not  be- 
have like  this.    I  cannot  be  your  wife." 

"Why  not?    Oh,  why  not?" 

"Because  I  am  not  fit  to  be  a  minister's  wife." 

The  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet,  glowing  with 
passion.     "Let  me  teach  you." 

Bella  avoided  his  extended  arms.  "No,  no,  no!" 
she  insisted,  "you  must  take  my  answer  once  and  for 
all,  Mr.  Pence.    I  cannot  marry  you." 

"But  why?"  he  urged  despairingly. 

"I  have  a  reason,"  she  replied  formally;  don't  ask 
me  for  it." 

"I  have  no  need  to.    I  know  your  reason." 

Bella  flushed,  but  overlooked  the  bitterness  of  His 
tone  because  she  guessed  what  he  suffered.  "In  that 
case,  I  need  not  explain,"  she  said  coldly,  and  again 
tried  to  pass.    Again  he  prevented  her. 

"You  love  that  man  Lister,"  he  said  between  his 
teeth. 

"That  is  my  business,  Mr.  Pence." 

"Mine  also,"  he  cried,  undaunted  by  her  haughti- 
ness. "Your  father's  business,  too.  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley  said  that  you  were  almost  engaged  to  this  man 
Lister.  But  you  shall  not  marry  him;  you  will  not 
even  be  engaged  to  him." 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  31 

"Who  will  prevent  me?"  asked  Bella  angrily. 

"Your  father.    He  hates  this  man  Lister." 

"How  can  my  father  hate  a  man  he  has  never  even 
seen?"    she  demanded;  you  are  talking  rubbish." 

"Miss  Huxham" — Pence  detained  her  by  laying 
his  thin  fingers  on  her  arm — "if  you  marry  this  man 
Lister" — he  kept  to  this  sentence  as  though  it  were  a 
charm — "you  will  be  a  pauper." 

She  flashed  up  into  a  royal  rage  and  stamped. 
"How  dare  you  say  that?" 

"I  dare  tell  the  truth." 

"It  is  not  the  truth.     How  can  you  tell  if " 

"Your  father  told  me,"  insisted  the  preacher,  hotly. 

Bella  withdrew  a  step  or  so,  her  eyes  growing  round 
with  surprise.     "My — father — said — that?" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  cried  Silas  feverishly.  "I  went  to 
him  this  very  afternoon  to  ask  permission  to  present 
myself  to  you  as  a  suitor.  He  consented,  but  only 
when  he  heard  that  you  loved  this  man  who " 

"You  told  him  that?"  demanded  Bella,  her  breath 
coming  quick  and  short. 

"Yes,"  said  Pence,  trying  to  be  courageous,  "and 
it  is  true." 

"Who  says  that  it  is?" 

"Everyone  in  the  village." 

"The  village  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  business," 
she  declared  imperiously,  "and  even  if  I  do  love — 
but  let  that  pass.  You  told  me  that  my  father  said  I 
should  be  a  pauper." 

"If  you  married  the  man  Lister,"  he  reminded  her. 
"Yes,  he  did  say  so,  and  declared  also  that  he  would 
give  me  the  manor-house  and  the  farm  when  he  died, 
if  I  made  you  my  wife." 

Bella  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "My  father  does  not 
mean  what  he  says,"  she  remarked  disbelievingly ;  "as 
I  am  his  only  child,  the  Solitary  Farm,  as  they  call  it, 
comes  to  me  in  any  case.    And  I  see  no  reason  why  I 


\ 


32  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

should  discuss  my  father's  business  with  you.  Stand 
aside  and  let  me  pass." 

"No."  Silas  was  wonderfully  brave  for  one  of  his 
timid  soul.  "You  shall  not  pass  until  you  learn  the 
truth.  You  think  that  I  am  a  fool  and  weak.  I  am 
not.  I  feel  wise  and  strong;  and  I  am  strong — strong 
enough  to  withstand  temptation,  even  when  you  are 
offered  as  a  bribe." 

Bella  grew  somewhat  alarmed.  She  did  not  like 
the  glittering  of  his  shallow,  grey  eyes.  "You  are 
mad." 

"I  am  sane ;  you  know  that  I  am  sane,  but  you  think 
to  put  me  off  by  saying  that  I  am  crazy.  I  have  had 
enough  to  make  me  so.  Your  father" — here  his  voice 
took  on  the  sing-song  pulpit  style — "your  father  took 
me  up  to  an  exceedingly  high  mountain,  and  showed 
me  the  kingdoms  of  the  world.  All  of  them  he  of- 
fered me,  together  with  you,  if  I  murdered  Lister." 

"What!"  Bella's  voice  leaped  an  octave;  "you — 
you — murder  Cyril?" 

"Yes,  Cyril,  the  man  you  love.  And  if  I  dared- 


"i 


'Mr.  Pence" — Bella  saw  the  necessity  of  keeping 
herself  well  in  hand  with  this  hysterical  youth,  for  he 
was  nothing  else,  and  spoke  in  a  calm,  kind  voice — 
"my  father  has  not  seen  Mr.  Lister,  and  cannot  hate 
him." 

"Go  and  ask  him  what  he  thinks,"  said  Pence 
fiercely.  "I  tell  you  that  to-day  I  was  offered  every- 
thing if  I  would  kill  this  man  Lister." 

"You  are  talking  at  random,"  she  said  soothingly; 
"go  home,  and  lie  down." 

"I  am  talking  of  what  may  come  to  pass.  Your  fa- 
ther wishes  it,  so  why  not,  when  I  love  you  so  deeply  ? 
I  offer  you  the  heart  of  an  honest  man,  and  yet  you 
would  throw  that  aside  for  this  profligate." 

"Cyril  is  not  a  profligate,"  interrupted  Bella,  and 
could  have  bitten  out  her  tongue  for  the  hasty  speech. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  33 

"He  is.  He  comes  from  London,  the  City  of  Evil, 
that  shall  yet  fall  like  Babylon  the  Great.  But  your 
soul  shall  not  be  lost;  you  shall  not  marry  him." 

"I  shall!"  cried  Bella,  indignantly,  and  becoming 
rash  again  in  her  anger ;  "  and  what  is  more,  I  am  en- 
gaged to  him  now.    So  there !    Let  me  pass." 

She  slipped  deftly  past  him,  and  walked  swiftly 
homeward.  Silas  Pence  stood  where  he  was,  staring 
after  her,  unable  to  speak  or  move  or  to  follow.  Then 
the  sun  sank,  leaving  him  in  the  twilight  of  sorrow. 


/ 


CHAPTER  III. 

A  TARDY  LOVER. 

Miss  Huxham  did  not  credit  for  one  moment  the 
story  which  Pence  had  told  her.  It  was  ridiculous  to 
think  that  her  father  would  even  hint  at  the  murder 
of  an  unoffending  man  whom  he  had  never  seen,  and 
to  hesitating,  timid  Silas,  of  all  people.  Bella  remem- 
bered that,  months  previously,  when  she  had  men- 
tioned a  chance  meeting  with  Lister —  then  a  stranger 
— at  the  cottage  of  the  Marshely  school-mistress,  Cap- 
tain Huxham  had  not  only  forbidden  her  to  bring 
him  to  Bleacres,  which  the  young  man  desired  to  see, 
but  had  ordered  her  to  discontinue  the  acquaintance. 
Evidently  the  retired  mariner  deemed  this  prohibi- 
tion sufficient,  for  he  made  no  further  mention  of  the 
matter.  That  he  gave  no  reason  for  his  tyrannical 
edict,  did  not  trouble  him;  but  because  of  this  very 
omission,  his  daughter  took  her  own  way.  By  stealth, 
it  is  true,  lest  Huxham  should  exhibit  annoyance — 
for  annoyance  with  him  meant  wild-beast  rage. 

Now  the  girl  felt  puzzled.  According  to  Silas,  her 
father  knew  that  she  had  disobeyed  him,  and  she  re- 
turned to  the  Manor  in  a  somewhat  nervous  state  of 
mind,  quite  prepared  to  do  battle  for  her  lover.  But, 
to  her  suprise,  Captain  Huxham  made  no  remark, 
and  behaved  much  the  same  as  usual,  save  that  at  odd 
times  he  was  more  observant  of  her  comings  and  go- 
ings. In  the  face  of  his  newly-acquired  knowledge 
this  very  unusual  demeanour  should  have  made  Bella 
more  circumspect,  but,  being  high-spirited,  she  did 
not  change  her  life  in  any  way.  Also  she  believed 
that  Silas  had  greatly  exaggerated  the  captain's  an- 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  35 

ger,  and  argued  from  his  quietness  that  he  cared  very 
little  what  she  did.  She  had  reason  to  take  this  view, 
for  Huxham  was  not  an  affectionate  parent,  and,  save 
when  things  interfered  with  his  own  comfort,  usually 
ignored  his  daughter.  And  on  her  side,  Bella  could 
not  subscribe  to  the  fifth  commandment.  It  was  im- 
possible to  honour  King  Log,  who  had  an  unpleasant 
way  of  becoming  King  Henry  VIII.  when  contra- 
dicted. 

Several  times,  Bella,  needing  sympathy,  was  on  the 
point  of  reporting  Pence's  conversation  to  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley,  so  as  to  learn  her  opinion  as  to  the  truth  of 
the  preacher's  preposterous  statement.  But  the 
buxom  widow  was  too  much  taken  up  with  her  own 
love-affairs  to  trouble  about  those  of  her  niece,  for 
whom  she  displayed  no  great  affection.  She  attended 
to  the  house-keeping,  cajoled  her  brother  into  a  good 
humour  when  necessary,  and  nearly  every  evening  slip- 
ped out  to  meet  Henry  Vand,  who  usually  awaited 
her  arrival  on  the  hither  side  of  the  boundary  channel. 
He  did  not  dare  to  venture  nearer  to  the  lion's  den, 
as  Captain  Huxham,  aware  of  his  sister's  desire  to 
contract  a  second  marriage,  discouraged  the  idea. 
The  captain  being  aggressively  selfish,  did  not  intend 
to  lose  Mrs.  Coppersley,  whose  services  were  neces- 
sary to  his  comfort.  Besides,  as  she  managed  every- 
thing connected  with  the  domestic  arrangement  of 
Bleacres,  assisted  by  Bella,  Huxham  was  spared  the 
necessity  of  paying  a  servant.  It  was  better,  from  the 
captain's  point  of  view,  to  have  two  slaves  who  asked 
for  no  wages,  and  who  could  be  bullied  when  he  felt 
like  playing  the  tyrant. 

To. a  young  girl  in  the  first  strong  flush  of  woman- 
hood, life  at  the  solitary  farm  was  extremely  dreary, 
Captain  Huxham  rose  early  and  strolled  round  His 
wealthy  acres  until  breakfast,  which  for  him  was  a 
Gargantuan    meal.      He   then    shut   himself    for    the 


;36  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

whole  morning  in  his  den,  where  he  laboured  at  his 
accounts,  with  a  locked  door.  In  the  afternoon  he  or- 
dinarily walked  to  Marshely  and  conversed  over 
strong  drink  with  cronies  at  the  village  public-house. 
He  returned  to  walk  around  the  farm  again,  and  after 
supper  again  sought  his  room  to  smoke  and  drink 
rum  until  bedtime,  at  ten  o'clock.  The  routine  of  the 
captain's  life  never  varied  in  any  particular,  even  to 
seeking  the  quarter-deck  once  a  day  for  the  purpose, 
apparently,  of  viewing  the  results  of  his  life's  work. 
Also  from  his  eyrie,  the  captain,  armed  with  a  long 
telescope,  could  gaze  at  outward  and  homeward-bound 
ships,  and  so  enjoy  vicariously  the  sea-life  he  had 
abandoned  these  ten  years.  Of  Bella  he  took  scarcely 
any  notice. 

It  was  indeed  a  dull  life,  especially  as  Bella  was  in- 
tellectual, and  felt  that  she  required  food  for  her  ac- 
tive brain.  For  some  odd  reason,  which  did  not  suit 
with  his  rough  nature,  Huxham  had  given  his  neg- 
lected daughter  a  first-class  education,  and  only  within 
the  last  two  years  had  she  returned  from  a  fashion- 
able Hampstead  school  to  live  this  uneventful,  unin- 
tellectual  life  on  an  Essex  farm.  She  possessed  a  few 
books,  and  these  she  read  over  and  over  again.  Hux- 
ham was  not  actively  unkind,  and  gave  her  plenty  of 
frocks,  ribbons,  hats,  gloves,  and  such-like  things, 
which  he  presumed  were  what  the  ordinary  girl 
wanted.  But  he  overlooked  the  fact  that  Bella  was 
not  an  ordinary  girl,  and  that  she  hungered  for  a 
more  moving  life,  or,  at  least,  for  one  which  would 
afford  her  an  opportunity  of  displaying  her  social  abili- 
ties. Bella  sang  excellently,  and  played  the  piano  un- 
usually well ;  but  her  uncouth  father  did  not  care  for 
music,  and  Mrs.  Coppersley  scorned  it  also.  The  girl 
therefore  allowed  her  talents  to  lie  dormant,  and  be- 
came a  silent,  handsome  image  of  a  woman,  moving 
ghostlike  through  the  dreary  mansion. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  37 

But  her  chance  meeting  with  the  clever  young  man 
aroused  all  her  disused  capabilities;  aroused  also  her 
womanly  coquetry,  and  stimulated  her  into  exhibiting 
a  really  fascinating  nature.  Warned  that  her  father 
would  have  no  strangers  coming  to  the  manor,  by  his 
own  lips,  she  kept  secret  the  delightful  meetings  with 
Lister,  and  only  when  the  two  met  at  the  cottage  of 
Miss  Ankers  could  they  speak  freely.  Bella  thought 
that  her  secret  attachment  was  unknown,  whereas 
everyone  in  the  village  watched  the  progress  of  Lis- 
ter's wooing.  It  came  as  has  been  seen,  to  Pence's 
jealous  ears,  and  he  reported  the  same  to  Captain 
Huxham.  Knowing  this,  Bella  was  more  perplexed 
than  ever,  that,  as  time  went  on,  Huxham  did  nothing 
and  said  nothing.  At  one  time  he  had  been  per- 
emptory, but  now  he  appeared  inclined  to  let  her  act 
as  she  chose.  And  the  mere  fact  that  he  did  so,  made 
Bella  feel  more  than  ever  what  an  indifferent  father 
she  possessed. 

For  quite  a  week  after  his  interview  with  the  cap- 
tain, and  his  futile  wooing  of  Bella,  the  lovesick 
preacher  kept  away  from  the  farm  and  attended 
sedulously  to  his  clerical  duties  in  connection  with 
Little  Bethel.  The  truth  was,  that  he  felt  afraid  of 
Huxham,  now  knowing  what  use  the  captain  desired 
to  make  of  him.  For  this  reason  also,  Silas  did  not 
report  that  Bella  was  engaged  to  Lister.  He  feared 
lest  Huxham,  in  a  rage  at  such  disregard  of  his  wishes, 
should  slay  the  young  journalist,  and  perhaps  might, 
in  his  infernal  cunning,  lay  the  blame  on  Silas  him- 
self. At  all  events,  Pence  was  wise  enough  to  avoid 
the  danger  zone  of  the  farm,  and  although,  after  re- 
flection, aided  by  jealousy,  he  was  not  quite  so 
shocked  at  the  idea  of  thrusting  Lister  to  a  muddy 
death,  he  yet  thought  it  more  judicious  to  keep  out  of 
Huxham's  way.  The  old  mariner,  as  Pence  knew, 
possessed  a  strong  will,  and  might  force  him  to  be  his 


38  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

tool  in  getting  rid  of  the  journalist.  Silas  was  wiser 
than  he  knew  in  acting  so  discreetly,  for  the  sailor- 
turned  farmer  was  a  more  dangerous  man  than  even 
he  imagined,  despite  the  glimpse  he  had  gained  of 
Huxham's  possible  iniquity. 

Things  were  in  this  position  when  Bella,  rendered 
reckless  by  her  father's  indifference,  actually  met 
Cyril  Lister  in  a  secluded  nook  of  the  corn-field,  and 
on  the  sacred  ground  of  Bleacres  itself.  Usually  the 
lovers  met  in  Miss  Ankers'  cottage,  or  in  Mrs.  Tunks' 
hut,  but  on  this  special  occasion  the  weather  was  so 
hot  that  Lister  proposed  an  adjournment  to  the  open 
field.  "You  will  be  Ruth,  and  I  Boaz,"  suggested  the 
young  man,  with  a  smile. 

Bella  shivered  even  in  the  warm  air  into  which  she 
had  stepped  out  of  the  malodorous  gloom  of  Mrs. 
Tunks'  hut.  "What  an  unlucky  comparison,"  she 
said,  leading  the  way  along  the  bank  of  the  boundary 
channel. 

"Ruth  left  her  people  and  her  home,  to  go  amongst 
strangers,  and  earn  her  living  as  a  gleaner." 

"But  she  found  a  devoted  husband  in  the  end," 
Cyril  reminded  her. 

"Peace  and  hapiness  also,  I  hope,"  sighed  Bella. 
"I  have  plenty  of  peace,  but  very  little  happiness,  save 
of  the  vegetable  sort." 

"When  we  are  married,"  began  Lister,  then  stop- 
ped short,  biting  his  moustache — "we  shall  be  very 
happy,"  he  ended  lamely,  seeing  that  Bella  looked  in- 
quiringly at  him. 

"That  is  obvious,  since  we  love  one  another,"  she 
said  somewhat  tartly,  for  his  hesitation  annoyed  her. 
"Why  did  you  change  the  conclusion  of  your  sen- 
tence ?" 

Lister  threw  himself  down  on  the  hard-baked 
ground  and  under  the  shadow  of  the  tall  blue-green 
corn  stalks.  "It  just  struck  me  that  our  marriage  was 
very  far  distant,"  he  said  gloomily. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  39 

Bella  sat  beside  him  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  hug- 
ged her  knees.  "Why  should  it  be  far  distant?"  she 
inquired.  "If  I  love  you,  and  you  love  me,  no  power 
on  earth  can  keep  us  apart." 

"Your  father " 


<n 


'I  shall  disobey  my  father  if  it  be  necessary,"  she 
informed  him  serenely. 

Lister  looked  at  her  through  half-shut  eyes,  and 
noticed  the  firmness  of  her  mouth  and  the  clear, 
steady  gaze  of  her  eyes.  "You  have  a  strong  will,  I 
think,  dear,"  he  murmured  admiringly. 

"I  have,  Cyril — as  strong  as  that  of  my  father. 
When  our  two  wills  clash" — she  shrugged — "there 
may  be  murder  committed." 

"Bella!" — the  young  man  looked  startled — "what 
dreadful  things  you  say." 

"It  is  the  truth,"  she  insisted  quietly;  "why  shirk 
obvious  facts?  For  some  reason,  which  I  cannot  dis- 
cover, my  father  detests  you." 

"By  Jove!"  Cyril  sat  up  alertly.  "And  why?  He 
has  never  seen  me,  as  I  have  kept  well  out  of  his  way 
after  your  warning.  But  I  have  had  a  sly  glimpse  of 
him,  and  he  seems  to  be  a  jolly  sort  of  animal — I  beg 
your  pardon  for  calling  him  so." 

"Man  is  an  animal,  and  my  father  is  a  man,"  said 
the  girl  coolly,  "a  neolithic  man,  if  you  like.  You  are 
a  man  also,  Cyril — the  kind  of  firm,  bold,  daring  man 
I  like.       Yet  if  you  met  with  my  father,  I  wonder 

"     She  paused,  and  it  flashed  across  her  brain 

that  her  father  and  her  lover  would  scarcely  suit  one 
another.  Both  were  strong-willed  and  both  masterful. 
She  wondered  if  they  met,  who  would  come  out  top- 
dog;  so  she  phrased  it  in  her  quick  brain.  Then  ab- 
ruptly she  added,  before  Cyril  could  speak.  "Be 
quiet  for  a  few  minutes.    I  wish  to  think." 

Lister  nodded,  and,  leaning  on  one  elbow,  chewed 
a  corn-stalk  and  watched  her  in  silence.     He  was  a 


4o  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

slim,  tall,  small-boned  young  man  of  the  fairskinned 
type,  with  smooth  brown  hair,  and  a  small,  drooping 
brown  moustache.  His  present  attitude  indicated  in- 
dolence, and  he  certainly  loved  to  be  lazy  when  a 
pretty  girl  was  at  his  elbow.  But  on  occasions  he 
could  display  wonderful  activity,  and  twice  had  been 
chosen  as  war  correspondent  to  a  London  daily,  when 
one  or  two  of  the  little  wars  on  the  fringe  of  the  Em- 
pire had  been  in  progress.  He  was  not  particularly 
good-looking,  but  the  freshness  of  his  five-and- 
twenty  years,  and  the  virility  of  his  manner,  made  wo- 
men bestow  a  great  deal  of  attention  on  him.  Much 
more  than  he  deserved,  in  fact,  as,  until  he  met  with 
Bella,  he  had  given  very  little  attention  to  the  sex. 
He  had  flirted  in  many  countries,  and  with  many 
women ;  but  this  was  the  first  time  he  had  made  gen- 
uine love,  or  had  felt  the  genuine  passion.  And  with 
a  country  maiden,  too,  unsophisticated  and  pathetic- 
ally innocent.  So  he  meditated  as  he  watched  her, 
until,  struck  by  the  firm  curve  of  the  chin  and  trie 
look  of  resolve  on  the  tightly-closed  lips,  he  con- 
fessed privately  that  if  this  country  maiden  were 
placed  in  the  forefront  of  society,  the  chances  were 
that  she  would  do  more  than  hold  her  own.  There 
were  Joan-of-Arc-like  possibilities  in  that  strongly- 
featured  face. 

"But,  upon  my  word,  I  am  quite  afraid,"  he  said 
aloud,  following  up  his  train  of  thought  and  speaking 
almost  unconsciously. 

"Of  what?"  asked  Bella,  turning  quickly  towards 
him. 

"Of  you.  Such  a  determined  young  woman,  as  you 
are.  If  I  make  you  my  wife,  I  know  who  will  be 
master." 

"My  dear,"  she  said  quietly,  "in  marriage  there 
should  be  neither  a  master  nor  a  mistress.  It's  a  sub- 
lime co-partnership,  and  the  partners  are  equal.    One 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  41 

supplies  what  the  other  lacks,  and  two  incomplete  per- 
sons are  required  to  make  one  perfect  being." 

Lister  opened  his  brown  eyes.  "Who  told  you  all 
this?" 

"No  one.  I  have  ample  time  to  think,  and — I 
think." 

"You  asked  me  to  be  quiet,  so  that  you  could  think," 
he  remarked  lazily;  "may  I  ask  what  you  have  been 
considering?" 

She  surveyed  him  quietly.  "You  may  ask;  but  I 
am  not  sure  if  I  will  reply." 

"See  here,  my  dearest" — Cyril  struggled  to  His 
knees,  and  took  her  hand  firmly  within  his  own — 
"you  are  altogether  too  independent  a  young  woman. 
You  always  want  your  own  way,  I  perceive." 

"It  will  never  clash  with  yours,"  said  Bella,  smil- 
ing. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  will  always  wish  to  do  what  I  desire, 
and  I  will  always  be  anxious  to  act  as  you  indicate. 
You  have  your  line  of  life,  and  I  have  mine,  but  the 
two  are  one." 

"Humph!  At  school  I  learned  that  two  parallel 
straight  lines  never  met." 

"Ah,  Euclid  was  a  bachelor,  and  ignorant.  They 
meet  in  marriage,  for  then  the  two  lines  blend  into 
one.     What's  the  matter?" 

She  asked  this  question  because  Cyril  suddenly  let 
go  her  hands  and  swerved,  blinking  his  eyes  rapidly. 
"A  sudden  flash  almost  blinded  me.  Some  '  one  is 
heliographing  hereabouts."  He  stood  up,  consider- 
ably taller  than  the  already  tall  corn,  and  stared  in  the 
direction  of  the  manor,  shading  his  eyes  with  one 
slim  hand.  "There's  someone  on  the  roof  there, 
and " 

Bella  pulled  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  with  a  stifled  cry. 
"Oh,  sit  down,  do  sit  down,"  she  implored.    "It  must 


42  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

be  my  father  on  his  quarter-deck.  The  flash,  perhaps, 
came  from  his  telescope,  and  if  he  sees  you — do  sit 
down." 

Cyril  laughed  and  relapsed  into  a  sitting  position. 
"Dearest,  your  father  cannot  harm  me  in  any  way. 
I  have  heard  of  his  quarter-deck.  I  suppose  he  has 
it  to  remind  him  of  the  bridge  of  a  steamer  when  he 
was  skipper." 

"I  hope  he  hasn't  seen  you,"  said  Bella  anxiously, 
"for  then  he  would  come  straight  here,  and " 

"Let  him  come,  and  then  I  shall  ask  him  to  let  me 
marry  you." 

"He  will  refuse.  He  wants  me  to  marry  Mr. 
Pence." 

"What!"  Lister  frowned.  "That  half-baked 
psalm-singer?  What  nonsense,  and  what  cheek.  The 
idea  of  that  Pence  creature  aspiring  to  your  hand. 

I    wish  we   could   marry   at   once.      But "     He 

paused,  and  shook  his  head.  Lines  appeared  on  his 
forehead,  and  a  vexed  look  in  his  eyes.  "It's  impos- 
sible," he  said  with  a  deep  breath. 

"Why  is  it  impossible?"  asked  Bella  imperiously 
and  very  directly. 

"My  dear,  I  am  very  poor,  and  just  make  enough 
to  keep  my  head  above  water.  Besides,  there  is  an- 
other reason." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said  in  low  voice,  and  becom- 
ing suddenly  pale;  "no  one  but  the  wearer  knows 
where  the  shoe  pinches,  you  know." 

"Cyril."  Bella  wreathed  her  arms  around  his  neck. 
"You  have  a  secret.  I  have  noticed  several  times 
that  you  have  been  worried.  Sometimes  you  forget 
everything  when  we  are  together,  and  your  face  be- 
comes like  that  of  an  old  man.  I  must  know  your 
secret,  so  that  I  can  help  you." 

"God  forbid."    Lister  removed  her  arms,  and  grew 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  43 

even  paler  than  he  was.  "The  kindest  way  I  can  act 
towards  you,  Bella,  is  to  go  out  of  your  life,  and  never 
see  you  again." 

"Cyril,  how  can  you  when  I  love  you  so?" 

"Would  you  love  me  if  you  knew  of  my  troubles?" 

"Try  me.  Try  me,"  she  implored,  clasping  his 
hand  warmly. 

"There  are  some  things  which  can't  be  told  to  a  wo- 
man," he  said  sternly. 

"Tell  them  to  a  comrade,  then.  I  wish  to  be  your 
comrade  as  well  as  your  wife.  And  I  love  you  so 
that  anything  you  say  will  only  make  me  love  you  the 
more.  Tell  me,  Cyril,  so  that  I  can  prove  my 
love." 

"Upon  my  soul,  I  believe  you'd  go  to  hell  with  me," 
said  Lister  strongly. 

"Yes,  I  would.  I  demand,  by  the  love  which  exists 
between  us,  to  be  told  this  secret  that  troubles  you  so 
greatly." 

Lister  frowned,  and  meditated.  "I  cannot  tell  you 
everything — yet,"  he  remarked,  after  a  painful  pause, 
"but  I  can  tell  you  this  much,  that  unless  I  have  one 
thousand  pounds  within  a  week,  I  can  never  marry 
you." 

"One  thousand  pounds.     But  for  what  purpose?" 

"You  must  not  ask  me  that,  Bella,"  and  his  mouth 
closed  firmly.  • 

"  'Trust  me  all  in  all,  or  not  at  all/  "  she  quoted. 

"Then  I  trust  you  not  at  all." 

"Oh!"  She  drew  back  with  a  cry  of  pain  like  a 
wounded  animal. 

In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  knees,  holding  her 
hands  to  his  beating  heart.  "My  dearest,  if  I  could 
I  would.  But  I  can't,  and  I  am  unable  just  now  to 
give  you  the  reason.  Save  that  I  am  a  journalist,  and 
your  devoted  lover,  you  know  nothing  about  me. 
Later  I  shall  tell  you  my  whole  story,  and  how  I  am 


44  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

situated.  Then  you  can  marry  me  or  not,  as  you 
choose." 

"I  shall  marry  you,  in  any  case,"  she  said  quickly. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  am  a  poor,  weak  fool,  who 
demands  perfection  in  a  man.  Whatever  your  sins 
may  be,  to  me  you  are  the  man  I  have  chosen  to  be  my 
husband.  We  are  here,  in  the  corn-fields,  and  you 
just  now  called  me  Ruth.  Then,  like  Ruth,  I  can  say 
that  'your  people  will  be  my  people,  and  your  God  will 
be  my  God.'  " 

"Dearest  and  best,"  he  kissed  her  ardently,  "what 
have  I  done  to  deserve  such  perfect  love?  But  do  not 
think  me  so  very  wicked.  It  is  not  myself,  so  much 
as  another.     Then  you " 

"Is  it  a  woman?"  she  asked,  drawing  back. 

Lister  caught  her  to  his  breast  again.  "No,  you 
jealous  angel,  it  is  not  a  woman.  The  thousand 
pounds  I  must  have,  to  save — but  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there.    You  must  think  me  but  a  tardy  lover  not 

to  carry  you  off,  forwith,  and "  he  rose,  with 

Bella  in  his  arms — "oh,  it's  impossible!" 

"Do  carry  me  off,"  she  whispered,  clinging  to  him. 
"Let  us  have  a  Sabine  wedding.  As  your  wife,  you 
can  tell  me  all  your  secrets.*5 

"Bella,  Bella,  I  cannot    I  am  desperately  poor." 

"So  am  I,  and  if  I  marry  you  my  father  will  leave 
all  his  money  to  my  aunt,  for  he  told  Mr.  Pence  so. 
But  what  does  poverty  matter,  so  long  as  we  love  one 
another  with  all  our  hearts  and  souls." 

"Oh!"  Cyril  clenched  his  hands  desperately. 
"Do  not  tempt  me.  Only  one  thousand  pounds  stands 
between  us.  If  I  had  that  I  could  make  you  my  wife 
within  a  week.  I  would  steal,  or  murder,  or  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  get  the  money  and  remove  the 
barrier.  But" — he  pushed  her  away  almost  brutally, 
and  frowned — "you  are  making  me  talk  rubbish.  We 
must  wait." 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  45 

"Until  when,  Cyril?"  she  asked  sadly. 

"Until  Destiny  is  kinder." 

"You  will  tell  me " 

"I  tell  you  nothing.  Give  me  one  kiss,  and  then 
good-bye  for " 

He  bent  to  touch  her  lips,  but  was  caught  and 
hurled  back.  Bella  uttered  a  cry  of  astonishment  and 
dread,  for  between  Cyril  and  herself  stood  Captain 
Huxham,  purple  with  anger. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SUDDEN   DEATH 

"Y'  shell  not  kiss  m'  gel,  or  merry  her,  or  hev  any- 
thing t'  do  with  m'  gel,"  said  Captain  Huxham,  in  a 
thick  voice.  "Oh,  I  saw  y'  fro'  th'  quarter-deck  with 
m'  gel.     Jus'  y'  git,  or " 

He  made  a  threatening  step  forward,  while  Cyril 
waited  him  without  flinching.  What  would  have  hap- 
pened it  is  hard  to  say,  for  Captain  Huxham  was  in  a 
frenzy  of  rage.  But  Bella,  recovering  from  her  first 
surprise,  threw  herself  between  the  two  men. 

"Father,"  she  cried  passionately,  "I  love  him." 

"Oh,  y'  do,  do  y'?"  growled  the  fireside  tyrant,  turn- 
ing fiercely  on  her,  "an'  arter  I  told  y'  es  y'd  hev  t' 
leave  the  swab  alone.    Did  I,  or  did  I  not?" 

"Yes,  but  you  assigned  no  reason  for  asking  me  to 
avoid  Cyril,  so " 

"Cyril!  Cyril!"  The  captain  clenched  his  huge 
hand,  and  his  little  eyes  flashed  with  desperate  anger. 
"Y'  call  him  Cyril,  y' — y' — slut."  He  raised  a  mighty 
fist  to  strike  her,  and  the  blow  would  have  fallen,  but 
that  Lister  suddenly  gripped  Huxham's  shoulder  and 
twitched  him  unexpectedly  aside. 

"If  you  blame  anyone,  sir,  you  must  blame  me." 

"I'll  break  yer  neck,  cuss  y',"  raged  the  older  man. 

Cyril  shrugged  his  shoulders,  indifferently.  "You 
can  try,  if  you  like,  but  I  don't  propose  to  let  you  do  it. 
Come,  Captain  Huxham,  let  us  both  be  reasonable  and 
talk  matters  over." 

"Y're  on  m'  land;  git  off  m'  land,"  shouted  Hux- 
ham, swinging  his  fists  like  windmills. 

"Go,  Cyril,  go,"  implored  Bella  who  was  terrified 
lest  there  should  be  a  hand-to-hand  struggle  between 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  47 

the  two  men.  That  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  as  if 
Lister  killed  the  captain,  or  the  captain  killed  Lister, 
there  would  be  no  chance  of  her  becoming  the  wife  of 
the  man  she  loved. 

"I  am  quite  ready  to  go,"  said  Cyril,  keeping  a 
watchful  eye  on  Huxham;  but  first  I  should  like  to 
hear  why  you,  sir,  object  to  my  marrying  Bella."  He 
spoke  quietly  and  firmly,  so  that  the  level  tones  of  his 
voice,  and  the  admirable  way  in  which  he  kept  his 
temper,  had  a  cooling  effect  on  the  enraged  sailor. 

Huxham,  born  bully  as  he  was,  found  that  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  storm  at  a  man  so  cool,  and  calm, 
and  self-controlled.  "Y*  ain't  m'  chice,"  said  he  in 
lower  but  very  sulky  tones;  "m'  gel's  goin'  t'  merry 
th'  sky-pilot,  Silas  Pence." 

"Oh,  no,  she's  not,"  said  Lister  smoothly ;  "she  will 
marry  me." 

"If  she  does,  she  don't  get  no  money  o'  mine." 

"That  will  be  no  hindrance,"  said  Bella,  who  was 
rapidly  regaining  her  colour.  "I  am  willing  to  marry 
Cyril  without  a  penny." 

"Y'  shent,  then,"  grumbled  her  father  savagely. 

"I  have  yet  to  hear  your  objections,  sir." 

"Yer  name's  Lister,  and " 

The  objection  was  so  petty,  that  Bella  quite  ex- 
pected to  see  Cyril  laugh.  But  in  place  of  doing  so, 
he  turned  white  and  retreated  a  step.  "What — what 
do  you  know  of  my  name?"  he  asked,  with  apparent 
nervousness. 

"Thet's  my  business,"  snapped  Huxham,  seeing  his 
advantage,  "an'  I  shen't  tell  y'  m'  business.    Y'  git  off 

m'  land,  or "  he  suddenly  lunged  forward  in  the 

attempt  to  throw  Lister  when  off  his  guard. 

But    the  young    man    was    watchful,    and,    unex- 
pectedly swerving,  dexterously  tripped  up  his  bulky  an- 
tagonist.    Huxham,   with  a   shout,   or   rather   a  bel- 
low of  rage  like  a  wounded  bull,  sprawled  full  length 


48  THE  SOLITARY   FARM 

amongst  the  corn.  Bella  pushed  her  lover  away  be- 
fore the  captain  could  regain  his  feet.  "Go,  go,  I  can 
see  you  to-morrow,"  she  said  hastily. 

"Y'  shell  never  see  the  swab  again,"  roared  Hux- 
ham,  rising  slowly,  for  the  fall  had  shaken  him,  and 
he  was  no  longer  young.  "I'll  shut  y'  in  yer  room, 
an'  feed  y'  on  bread  an'  water." 

"If  you  dare  to  say  that  again,  I'll  break  your  head," 
cried  Lister,  suddenly  losing  his  temper  at  the  insult 
to  the  girl  he  loved. 

"Oh,  will  y'  ?"  Huxham  passed  his  tongue  over  his 
coarse  lips  and  rubbed  his  big  hands  slowly.  Appar- 
ently nothing  would  have  given  him  greater  pleasure 
than  to  pitch  this  man  who  dared  him  into  the  bound- 
ary channel ;  but  he  had  learned  a  lesson  from  his  late 
fall.  Lister  was  active  and  young;  the  captain  was 
elderly  and  slow.  Therefore,  in  spite  of  his  superior 
strength — and  Huxham  judged  that  he  had  that — it 
was  risky  to  try  conclusions  of  sheer  brute  force.  The 
captain  therefore,  being  a  coward  at  heart,  as  all  bul- 
lies are,  weakened  and  retreated.  "Y'  git  off  m'  land," 
was  all  that  he  could  find  to  say,  "an'  y'  git  home, 
Bella.    Es  m'  daughter  I'll  deal  with  y'." 

"I  am  quite  ready  to  go  home,"  said  Bella  boldly; 
"but  you  are  not  going  to  behave  as  though  I  were  one 
of  your  sailors,  father." 

"I'll  do  wot  I  please,"  growled  Huxham,  looking 
white  and  wicked. 

Bella  laughed  somewhat  artificially,  for  her  father 
did  not  look  amiable.  "I  don't  think  you  will,"  she 
said,  with  feigned  carelessness.  "Cyril,  go  now,  and 
I'll  see  you  again  to-morrow." 

"Ef  y'  come  here  again,"  shouted  Huxham,  boiling 
over  once  more,  "I'll  kill  y' — thet  I  will." 

"Take  care  you  aren't  killed  yourself  first,"  retorted 
Lister,  and  was  surprised  at  the  effect  the  threat — an 
idle  one — had  on  the  ex-sailor. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  49 

Huxham  turned  pale  under  his  bronze,  and  hastily 
cast  a  look  over  his  left  shoulder. 

"Why  do  you  hate  me  so?"  asked  the  young  man 
sharply.  "I  never  met  you  before ;  you  have  never  set 
eyes  on  me.    Why  do  you  hate  me?" 

"Ef  I'd  a  dog  called  Lister,  I'd  shoot  it;  if  I'd  a 
cat  called  Lister,  I'd  drown  it;  and  if  I'd  a  parrot 
named  Lister,  I'd  twist  its  blamed  neck,  same  es  I 
would  yours,  ef  I  could.  Bella,  come  home;"  and 
casting  a  venomous  look  on  the  astonished  Cyril,  the 
captain  moved  away. 

It  was  useless  to  prolong  the  unpleasant  scene,  since 
Huxham  declined  to  explain  his  objection  to  the 
young  man's  name.  And  again,  as  she  took  a  few 
steps  to  accompany  her  father,  Bella  noticed  that 
Cyril  winced  and  paled  at  the  coarse  taunts  of  his  an- 
tagonist. "What  is  the  matter  with  your  name?"  she 
asked  sharply. 

Lister  strode  forward  and  caught  her  in  his  arms. 
"I  shall  explain  when  next  we  meet,"  he  whispered, 
and  kissed  her  good-bye,  while  Huxham  grated  his 
strong  white  teeth  at  the  sight.  Indeed,  so  angry 
was  the  captain,  that  he  might  again  have  assaulted 
his  daughter's  lover,  but  Cyril  walked  rapidly  away, 
and  without  even  a  backward  glance.  Bella  watched 
him  with  a  heavy  heart :  there  seemed  to  be  something 
sinister  about  this  mystery  of  the  name.  Huxham's 
inexplicable  hatred  appeared  to  be  foolish;  but  Lister 
undoubtedly  took  it  seriously. 

"Kim  home,"  breathed  the  captain  furiously  in  her 
ear ;  "you  an'  me  hes  t'  hev  a  talk." 

"It  will  be  a  last  talk  if  you  do  not  behave  prop- 
erly," retorted  Bella,  walking  proudly  by  his  side, 
"even  though  I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  your  daugh- 
ter, that  does  not  give  you  the  right  to  treat  me  so 
rudely." 

"Ill  treat  y'  es  I  blamed  well  like,  y'  hussy.    Y?ll  go 


50  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

t'  yer  room,  an'  eat  bread  an'  drink  water  t'  cool  yer 
hot  blood." 

Bella  laughed  derisively.  "There  is  law  in  this 
country,  father,"  she  said  quietly.  "I  shall  go  to  my 
room  certainly,  as  I  have  no  wish  to  remain  with  you. 
But  there  need  be  no  talk  of  bread  and  water." 

"Tea  an'  dry  toast,  then,"  grunted  Huxham,  look- 
ing at  her  savagely  with  his  hard  blue  eyes.  "Y'  shell 
be  punished,  y'  slut." 

"Because  I  have  fallen  in  love?    Nonsense." 

"Because  y've  disobeyed  me  in  seein'  this  blamed 
Lister." 

"Father" — Bella  stopped  directly  before  the  front 
door  of  the  manor-house — "why  do  you  hate  Cyril? 
What  have  you  against  his  name  ?" 

The  captain  quivered,  blinked  his  eyes,  cast  his 
usual  look  over  the  left  shoulder,  and  then  scowled. 
"Shut  yer  mouth,"  he  growled,  "an'  go  t'  yer  room, 
cuss  y'.  This  house  is  mine.  I  am  master  here."  He 
rolled  into  the  doorway  and  suddenly  turned  on  the 
threshold.  "I'd  ruther  see  y'  dead  an'  buried  than 
merried  t'  a  man  of  t'  name  of  Lister,"  he  snarled;  and 
before  Bella  could  recover  from  her  astonishment,  he 
plunged  into  his  den  and  shut  the  door  with  a  noisy 
bang. 

The  girl  passed  her  hand  across  her  forehead  in 
a  bewildered  way.  The  mystery  was  becoming 
deeper,  and  she  saw  no  way  of  solving  it.  Huxham 
would  not  explain,  and  Cyril  evaded  the  subject. 
Then  Bella  remembered  that  her  lover  had  promised 
an  explanation  when  next  they  met.  A  remembrance 
of  this  aided  her  to  possess  herself  in  patience,  and  she 
tried  to  put  the  matter  out  of  her  head.  But  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  meet  her  father  at  supper  and 
forbear  asking  questions,  so  so  she  decided  to  obey  him 
ostensibly,  and  retire  to  her  bedroom.  The  next  day 
she  could  have  an  interview  with  her  lover,  and  then 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  51 

would  learn  why  the  captain  stormed  and  Cyril  winced 
when  the  name  was  mentioned. 

Bella's  room  was  on  the  first  floor,  and  in  the  front 
of  the  mansion,  so  that  she  had  an  extended  view 
of  the  cornfields,  of  Mrs.  Tunks'  hut  near  the  boun- 
dary channel,  and  of  the  pathway  through  the 
wheat  leading  deviously  from  the  front  door  of  Ble- 
acres,  across  the  channel,  and  to  the  distant  village  of 
Marshely.  Standing  at  the  window,  she  could  see  the 
red-roofed  houses  gathered  round  the  square  tower  of 
the  church,  and  the  uncultivated  fields,  green  and  moist, 
spreading  on  all  sides.  The  sun  was  setting,  and  the 
landscape  was  bathed  in  rosy  hues.  Everything  was 
peaceful  and  restful  outside,  but  under  the  manor  roof 
was  discord  and  dread.  Huxham  in  his  den  paced  up 
and  down  like  a  caged  bear,  angered  exceedingly  by  his 
daughter's  obstinacy,  as  he  termed  it.  And  Bella,  in 
the  seclusion  of  her  own  room,  was  trying  to  quieten 
her  fears.  Hitherto,  she  had  lived  what  she  termed  a 
vegetable  life;  but  in  these  ominous  hints  it  seemed  as 
though  she  would  very  shortly  have  more  than  enough 
to  occupy  her  mind. 

As  the  twilight  darkened,  Bella  still  continued  to 
sit  at  the  window  vainly  endeavouring  to  forecast  a 
doubtful  future.  It  was  certain  that  Huxham  would 
never  agree  to  her  marriage  with  Lister,  and  would 
probably  insist  that  she  should  become  the  wife  of 
Pence.  As  Bella  had  no  money,  and  no  expectations 
of  any,  save  by  obeying  her  father,  she  did  not  know 
what  to  do  unless  the  captain  ceased  to  persecute  her. 
He  would  possibly  turn  her  out  of  doors  if  she  per- 
sisted in  thwarting  his  will.  In  that  event  she  would 
either  have  to  earn  her  bread  as  a  governess,  or  would 
be  forced  to  ask  Lister  to  marry  her — a  direct  queslion 
which  her  maidenly  pride  shrank  from  putting.  More- 
over— as  she  recollected — Cyril  had  plainly  told  her, 
only  a  few  hours  previously,  that  he  could  not  marry 


52  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

her  unless  he  obtained  one  thousand  pounds  within  the 
week.  It  was  now  Tuesday,  and  it  was  not  easy  to 
raise  such  a  large  sum  within  the  next  few  days.  Of 
course,  Bella  did  not  know  what  resources  Cyril  had  to 
draw  upon,  and  it  might  be  that  he  would  gain  what 
he  wanted.  Then  he  could  take  her  away  and  marry 
her;  but  until  the  unexpected  happened,  she  did  not 
know  what  to  say  or  how  to  act.  It  seemed  to  her 
that  she  had  come  to  the  cross-roads  of  life,  and  that 
all  her  future  depended  upon  the  path  she  now  chose. 
Yet  there  was  nothing  to  show  her  how  to  select  the 
direction. 

Her  idle  eyes  caught  at  the  vivid  spot  of  scarlet 
which  came  from  the  red  coat  of  the  martial  scare- 
crow. There  it  stood,  bound  stiffly  to  a  tall  pole  in 
the  midst  of  the  corn — the  sentinel  of  those  pros- 
perous acres.  Bella  wondered  that  her  father,  having 
been  a  sailor,  had  not  arrayed  the  figure  in  nautical 
dress.  As  it  was,  the  red  hue  annoyed  her,  for  red  was 
the  colour  of  blood,  and  there  lingered  in  her  mind  the 
ominous  speeches  which  had  been  made  by  her  father 
and  Lister,  when  quarrelling.  "I'll  kill  y'!"  said  the 
captain ;  and  "Take  care,"  Cyril  had  replied,  "that  you 
aren't  killed  yourself  first!"  Also  there  was  the  wild 
tale  of  Pence  regarding  the  offer  made  by  Huxham  to 
compass  the  death  of  Lister.  These  things  flashed  into 
Bella's  uncomfortable  mind,  as  she  looked  at  the  red 
and  ominous  figure  of  the  scarecrow.  Then,  with 
a  shudder,  she  rose  and  dismissed  these  evil 
fancies. 

"I  am  growing  morbid,"  she  thought,  looking  at  her 
anxious  face  in  the  glass.  "Tomorrow,  when  I  see 
Cyril — oh,  come  in !"  said  she  aloud. 

She  broke  off  to  give  the  invitation,  as  a  sharp 
knock  came  to  the  door,  and  it  opened  almost  immedi- 
ately to  admit  the  plump  figure  of  Mrs.  Coppersley, 
carrying  a  tray.     "Here's  some  dry  toast  and  a  cup  of 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  53 

tea,"  said  the  widow  severely;  "your  father  says  you 
are  not  to  come  to  supper." 

"I  shouldn't  come  if  he  wanted  me  to,"  retorted 
Bella,  as  Mrs.  Coppersley  set  down  her  burden;  "and 
if  he  thinks  to  punish  me  in  this  way,  he  is  very  much 
mistaken.  Does  he  think  that  I  am  a  child,  to  submit 
to  his  tyranny?" 

"He  thinks  that  you  are  a  disobedient  daughter," 
said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  drily. 

"And  what  do  you  think,  aunt?" 

The  older  woman  coughed.  She  thought  that  her 
niece  was  much  too  pretty,  and  much  too  independent, 
but  had  no  ill-feeling  toward  her,  save  a  natural  petty 
feminine  jealousy.  "I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  she 
said,  sitting  down  to  gossip.  "Of  course,  your  father 
is  impossible,  and  always  wants  his  own  way.  I  don't 
see  why  folks  should  not  be  allowed  to  choose  hus- 
bands for  themselves.  Jabez" — this  was  Huxham's 
Christian  name — "objects  to  my  marrying  Henry,  and 
to  your  becoming  the  wife  of  this  Lister  person." 

"Don't  speak  of  Cyril  in  that  way,"  said  Bella,  with 
some  impatience;  "he  is  a  gentleman,  and  the  man  I 
love.  By  the  way,  aunt,  you  might  have  brought  up 
the  teapot.    I  dislike  anyone  else  to  pour  out  my  tea." 

"Your  father  poured  it  out  himself  while  I  went  to 
the  kitchen  for  the  toast,"  snapped  Mrs.  Coppersley; 
"he  said  you  were  to  have  only  this  one  cup." 

"What  a  petty  tyrant  he  is,"  sighed  Bella,  pushing 
the  cup  away.     "Aunt,  what  do  you  think  of  Cyril?" 

"He  is  very  handsome,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Coppersley 
cautiously,  "but  I  don't  know  anything  about  his  posi- 
tion or  disposition." 

"I  know  he  is  the  dearest  fellow  in  the  world,  aunt ; 
but,  like  yourself,  his  position  is  unknown  to  me." 

Mrs.  Coppersley  rose  aghast.  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  would  marry  a  man  about  whom  you  know 
nothing?"  she  demanded. 


54  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

"I  know  sufficient  to  choose  him  for  my  husband," 
retorted  Bella,  spiritedly  ;  "and  I  intend  to  marry  him, 
in  spite  of  my  father's  bullying." 

"Then  your  father  will  not  give  you  a  single  penny," 
cried  Mrs.  Coppersley.  "I  approve  of  his  doing  so. 
You  can't  marry  this  man." 

"Oh  !"  said  Bella,  bitterly.  "I  thought  you  agreed 
that  a  woman  should  choose  her  own  husband." 

"A  woman  like  myself,  who  knows  life,  Bella — not 
a  chit  of  a  girl  like  you." 

"I  am  twenty  years  of  age,"  flashed  out  her  niece. 

"And  have  the  sense  of  a  babe  of  three,"  scoffed 
Mrs.  Coppersley,  moving  towards  the  door.  "Perhaps 
a  night  of  loneliness  will  bring  you  to  your  senses,  my 
dear."  She  passed  through  the  door  and  closed  it. 
"I  am  locking  you  in,  by  your  father's  wish,"  said  Mrs. 
Coppersley  from  the  other  side. 

Bella,  white  with  rage  at  this  indignity,  sprang  to 
wrench  open  the  door,  but  almost  before  she  reached 
it,  the  key  clicked  in  the  lock,  and  she  knew  that  she 
was  a  prisoner.  And  the  door  was  so  stout  and  strong 
that  there  was  no  chance  of  a  frail  girl,  such  as  she 
was,  breaking  it  down.  But  Bella  was  in  a  royal  rage, 
and  it  was  in  her  mind  to  scramble  out  of  the  window 
and  escape. 

"But  what's  the  use!"  she  thought,  her  eyes  filling 
with  impotent  tears.  "I  have  no  money,  and  no 
friends,  and  no  other  home.  What  a  shame  it  is  for 
me  to  be  at  the  mercy  of  my  father  in  this  way!  I 
shall  have  to  submit  to  this  insult.  There  is  nothing 
else  I  can  do.  But  oh,  oh!" — she  clenched  her  hands 
as  she  again  returned  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
into  the  rapidly  darkening  night.  "I  shall  insist  upon 
Cyril  marrying  me  at  once.  If  he  loves  me  he  surely 
will  not  stand  by  idly,  when  I  am  treated  in  this  way." 

Trying  to  calm  herself,  she  walked  up  and  down 
the  room.     The  one  slice  of  toast  and  the  one  cup  of 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  55 

tea  were  on  the  table,  but  anger  had  taken  her  appetite. 
Inexperienced  in  the  troubles  of  life,  she  was  like  a 
newly-captured  bird  dashing  itself  against  the  wires  of 
its  hateful  cage.  To  and  fro  the  girl  walked,  revolving 
plans  of  escape  from  her  father's  tyranny,  but  in  every 
direction  the  want  of  money  proved  an  obstacle  im- 
possible to  surmount.  Nothing  remained  but  for  her 
to  wait  patiently  until  she  could  see  Cyril  the  next  day. 
Then  an  exhaustive  talk  might  lead  to  the  formation 
of  some  plan  whereby  her  future  could  be  arranged  for. 

Faint  and  far,  she  heard  the  clock  in  Marshely 
church-tower  strike  the  hour  of  eight,  and  began  to 
think  of  retiring  to  bed.  The  night  was  hot,  so  she 
flung  up  the  window,  and  permitted  the  fresh  air  to 
circulate  in  the  close  room.  The  atmosphere  was  lu- 
minous with  starlight,  although  there  was  no  moon 
visible.  A  gentle  wind  bent  the  rustling  stalks  of  the 
vast  cornfields,  and  their  shimmering  green  was 
agitated  like  the  waves  of  the  sea.  White  mists  rose 
ghost-like  on  the  verge  of  the  farm,  and  into  them  the 
ocean  of  grain  melted  faintly.  What  with  the  mists 
and  the  luminous  night  and  the  spreading  wheat-fields 
phantom-like  in  the  obscurity,  Bella  felt  as  though  she 
were  in  a  world  of  vague  dreams. 

Looking  down  the  narrow  path,  which  showed  a 
mere  thread  in  the  semi-gloom,  she  beheld  a  tall,  dark 
figure  advancing  towards  the  house.  It  was  that  of  a 
man,  and  by  the  way  in  which  he  walked,  Bella  felt 
sure  that  he  was  her  lover.  Her  heart  beat  wildly. 
Perhaps  Cyril  had  come,  or,  rather,  was  coming,  to 
see  the  captain,  and  to  plead  his  suit  once  more. 
Greatly  agitated  by  this  unforeseen  visit,  she  leaned 
out  of  the  window  as  the  man  came  almost  directly 
under  it.  He  was  Cyril,  she  felt  certain,  both  from 
his  carriage  and  from  the  fact  that  she  vaguely  saw 
the  grey  suit  he  wore.  During  the  afternoon,  Lister 
had  been  thus  dressed. 


£6  THE   SOLITARY  FARM 

"Cyril !  Cyril !"  she  called  out  cautiously. 

The  man  looked  up,  and  in  the  faint  light  she  saw 
that  he  was  indeed  Cyril,  for  the  eyes  of  love  were 
keen  enough  to  pierce  the  obscurity,  and  also  her  win- 
dow was  no  great  height  from  the  ground  But  the 
man  looked  up,  making  no  sign  of  recognition,  and 
stepped  into  the  house  without  knocking  at  the  door. 
Bella  started  back  in  surprise.  She  knew  that  the 
front  door  was  always  unlocked  until  ten,  when  her 
father  usually  retired  to  bed.  But  it  seemed  strange 
that  Cyril,  who  had  quarrelled  with  the  captain  that 
very  day,  should  choose  to  risk  his  further  wrath  by 
entering  the  house  uninvited.  Also,  it  was  stranger 
still  that  Cyril  should  have  looked  up  without  making 
some  sign.  He  must  have  known  who  she  was,  for, 
failing  sight,  he  had  his  hearing  to  recognise  her  voice. 
It  was  all  very  strange. 

Bella  twisted  up  her  hair,  which  she  had  let  down, 
and  walked  to  the  table  to  take  up  the  now  cold  cup 
of  tea.  Her  throat  was  parched  with  thirst  by  reason 
of  her  nerves,  and  she  wished  to  refresh  herself  so  that 
she  might  think  of  what  was  best  to  be  done.  Cyril 
and  her  father  had  quarrelled,  and  again  she  remem- 
bered the  ominous  threats  they  had  used  to  one  an- 
other. It  was  inconceivable  madness  for  Lister  to 
to  beard  the  captain  in  his  den,  knowing  what  a  vile 
temper  the  old  man  possessed.  It  was  not  at  all  im- 
possible, or  even  improbable,  but  what  the  afternoon 
quarrel  might  be  renewed,  and  then  heaven  only  knew 
what  might  happen. 

Drinking  the  cup  of  tea  hastily,  Bella  thought  over 
these  things  and  resolved,  if  she  could  not  escape  by 
the  door,  to  scramble  out  of  the  window.  Then  she 
could  enter  the  house,  and  appear  in  the  captain's  den, 
to  be  present  at  what  would  probably  be  a  stormy 
interview.  Already  she  was  straining  her  ears  to  catch 
the  faintest  sound  of  quarrelling,  but  as  yet  she  could 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  57 

Hear  nothing.  Certainly  Cyril  had  closed  the  front 
door,  for  immediately  he  had  entered  she  had  heard 
him  do  so.  And  again,  the  walls  of  the  old  mansion 
were  so  thick,  that  it  was  impossible  she  could  hear, 
when  shut  up  in  her  bedroom,  what  was  taking  place 
below. 

Anxiously  she  tried  the  door,  but  in  spite  of  all  her 
efforts,  she  failed  to  open  it.  Wild  with  alarm  as 
to  what  might  be  happening,  she  crossed  to  her  bed, 
intending  to  twist  the  sheets  into  a  rope  for  descent 
from  the  window.  But  as  she  caught  at  the  linen,  she 
felt  a  drumming  in  her  ears,  and  sparks  seemed  to 
dance  before  her  eyes.  Apparently  the  strain  on  her 
nerves  was  making  her  ill.  Also  she  felt  unaccount- 
ably drowsy,  and  in  spite  of  every  effort  to  keep  awake, 
she  sank  beside  the  bed,  with  the  sheets  still  grasped  in 
her  hands.  In  two  or  three  minutes  she  was  fast 
asleep. 

The  window  was  still  open,  and  a  bat  swept  into 
the  room.  He  flitted  round  the  motionless  figure, 
uttering  a  thin  cry,  and  again  passed  out  into  the 
starry  night.  The  silvery  voices  of  the  nightingales 
in  the  copses  round  Marshely  village  came  faintly 
across  the  meadows  mingled  with  the  cry  of  a  mouse- 
hunting  screech-owl.     Still  Bella  slept  on. 

Hour  after  hour  passed,  and  the  night  grew  darker. 
The  wind  died  away,  the  cornfields  ceased  to  rustle, 
the  nightingales  to  sing.  It  became  colder,  too,  as 
though  the  breath  of  winter  was  freezing  the  now 
moist  air.  The  stars  yet  glittered  faintly,  and  the 
high-pitched  whistle  of  a  steamer  could  be  heard  from 
the  distant  river,  but  on  the  whole,  the  earth  was 
silent  and  weirdly  gloomy  for  summer-time.  During 
the  small  hours  there  came  an  ominous  hush  of  ex- 
pectant dread,  which  lasted  until  the  twittering  birds 
brought  in  the  dawn. 

Bella  opened  her  eyes,  to  find  her  room  radiant  with 


58  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

royal  red  light.  She  felt  sick  and  dizzy,  for  over  her 
stood  Mrs.  Coppersley,  shaking  her  vigorously  by  the 
shoulder.  "Bella,  Bella !  Your  father  is  dead.  Mur- 
der, murder!  Oh,  come  to  the  study  and  see  the 
murder!" 


CHAPTER  V 

A  MYSTERIOUS  CRIME 

"Murder!"  The  ominous  word  struck  at  Bella's 
heart,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  her  dazed  brain  could 
scarcely  grasp  its  significance.  With  unseeing  eyes 
she  stared  at  her  terrified  aunt.  Mrs.  Coppersley,  in 
her  usual  morning  dress,  simply  made,  for  domestic 
purposes,  fell  back  from  the  motionless  girl,  and 
gripped  the  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  Her  face 
was  white,  her  figure  limp;  and  almost  crazy  with 
alarm,  she  looked  twice  her  age.  Nor  did  the  sight 
of  her  niece's  bewildered  gaze  reassure  her.  With  a 
quick  indrawn  breath  of  fear,  she  lurched  forward  and 
again  shook  the  girl. 

"Bella!  Bella!  what's  come  to  you?  Don't  you 
hear  me?  Don't  you  understand,  Bella?  Jabez  is 
dead!  your  father  has  been  murdered.  He's  lying  a 
corpse  in  his  study.  And  oh — oh — oh!" — Mrs.  Cop- 
persley reeled  against  the  table  again,  and  showed 
signs  of  violent  hysteria. 

This  spectacle  brought  back  Bella  with  a  rush  to 
the  necessities  of  the  moment.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet,  with  every  sense  alert  and  ready  to  be  used.  Seiz- 
ing the  ewer  from  the  wash-stand,  she  dashed  the 
water  over  the  sobbing,  terrified  woman,  then  braced 
herself  to  consider  the  situation. 

Bella's  thoughts  reverted  to  the  events  of  the  pre- 
vious night.  She  remembered  that  Cyril  had  come  to 
the  house  and,  without  a  sign  of  recognition  had 
entered.  She  had  not  seen  him  depart,  because — be- 
cause— oh,  yes,  she  had  fallen  unaccountably  asleep. 
Slumber  had  overtaken  her  at  the  very  moment  when 


60  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

she  was  preparing  to  descend  from  the  window,  in 

order  to — to — to .     Bella  uttered  a  wild  cry,  and 

the  ebbing  blood  left  her  face  pearly  white.    The  inter- 
view between  her  father  and  Cyril  had  taken  place; 

she  had  not  been   there,   and  now — and   now . 

"What  do  you  say?"  she  asked  her  aunt,  in  a  hard,  un- 
emotional voice. 

Mrs.  Coppersley,  quite  unnerved,  and  drying  her 
scared  face  with  the  towel,  gasped  and  stared.  "Didn't 
you  hear?  What's  come  to  you,  Bella?  Your  father 
has  been  murdered.  I  got  up  this  morning  as  usual, 
and  went  into  the  study.  He's  lying  there,  covered 
with  blood.    Oh,  who  can  have  killed  him?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  cried  Bella,  harshly.  "I 
was  locked  up  in  this  room  by  you,  Aunt  Rosamund. 

I  fell  asleep  after — after "  she  stopped,  aware  that 

she  might  say  something  dangerous. 

"After  what?"   asked  Mrs.   Coppersley,   curiously. 

"After  you  left — after  I  drank  the  tea.  Oh,  how 
could  I  fall  asleep,  when — when — ah!"  Bella  made 
a  bound  for  the  table,  and  took  up  the  empty  cup. 
Some  dregs  of  tea  remained,  which  she  tasted.  They 
had  a  bitter  flavour,  and  a  thought  flashed  into  her 
mind.    "You  drugged  this  tea !"  she  cried. 

Mrs.  Coppersley  flapped  her  plump  hands  feebly, 
and  gasped  again.  Never  a  very  strong-minded  wom- 
an, she  was  now  reduced  to  a  markedly  idiotic  condi- 
tion under  the  strain  of  the  tragic  circumstances.  "I 
drug  your  tea?    Save  us,  Bella,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  drank  this  tea  and  fell  asleep,"  said  the  girl 
sharply;  "although  before  drinking  it,  I  did  not  feel 
at  all  sleepy.  Now  I  have  a  disagreeable  taste  in  my 
mouth,  and  my  head  aches.  There  is  a  queer  flavour 
about  what  is  left  in  the  cup.  I  am  sure  this  tea  was 
drugged.     By  you?" 

"Good  Lord!"  cried  Mrs.  Coppersley  indignantly. 
"Why  should  I  drug  your  tea,  Bella?     Your  father 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  61 

poured  it  out  himself  in  the  study,  when  I  was  getting 
you  toast  in  the  kitchen.     I  told  you  so  last  night" 

"Yes,  yes.  I  remember."  Bella  passed  her  hand 
across  her  forehead.  "My  father  evidently  drugged 
the  tea  to  keep  me  quiet.  And  so  he  has  met  with  his 
death  by  violence." 

"Bella,"  Mrs.  Coppersley  screamed,  and  made  for 
the  door,  "what  do  you  mean?" 

Again  the  girl  felt  that  she  was  talking  too  freely. 
If  Cyril  was  implicated  in  the  crime  reported  by  Mrs. 
Coppersley,  she  must  save  Cyril.  Or  at  least,  she  must 
hold  her  peace  until  slie  heard  from  her  lover  what 
had  taken  place  during  that  fatal  interview.  It  was 
just  possible  that  Cyril  had  slain  the  captain  in  self- 
defence,  and  knowing  her  father's  violent  character, 
the  girl  could  scarcely  blame  the  young  man.  She 
expected  that  this  would  happen,  and  so  had  been 
anxious  to  intervene  as  a  peacemaker.  But  the 
drugged  tea — she  felt  certain  that  it  had  been  drugged 
by  her  father — had  prevented  her  doing  what  she 
wished.  Now  Huxham  was  dead,  and  Lister, 
whether  in  self-defence  or  not,  was  his  murderer.  The 
thought  was  agony.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  the  terror  en- 
gendered by  her  surmise,  Bella  found  herself  blaming 
her  father.  If  he  had  not  drugged  the  tea  in  order  to 
keep  her  in  her  room,  this  tragedy  would  not  have 
happened.  Captain  Huxham  had  paved  the  way  to  his 
own  death. 

But,  after  all,  there  might  be  extenuating  circum- 
stances, and  perhaps  Cyril  would  be  able  to  explain. 
Meantime  she  would  hold  her  tongue  as  to  having 
seen  him  enter  the  house.  But  if  anyone  else  had  seen 
him?  She  turned  to  Mrs.  Coppersley.  "Where  were 
you  last  night?"  she  demanded,  suspiciously. 

"I  was  with  Henry  Vand  from  seven  until  after 
ten,"  said  the  woman  meekly,  and  evidently  unaware 
why  the  leading  question  had  been  put.     "I  left  your 


62  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

father  in  his  study,  and  when  I  returned  I  let  myself  in 
by  the  back  door  and  went  to  bed  quietly.  You  know, 
Jabez  always  objected  to  my  seeing  Henry,  so  I  wished 
to  avoid  trouble.  This  morning,  when  I  went  into 
the — ugh!  ugh!  come  and  see  for  yourself!"  and  Mrs. 
Coppersley  gripped  Bella's  wrist  to  draw  her  towards 
the  door — "It's  murder  and  robbery !" 

Bella  released  her  wrist  with  a  sudden  jerk,  but  fol- 
lowed the  elder  woman  down  the  stairs.  "Robbery! 
What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Come  and  see!"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley  hysterically. 
"We  must  send  for  the  police,  I  suppose.  Oh,  my  poor 
nerves!  Never,  never  shall  I  get  over  this  shock,  dis- 
agreeable as  Jabez  always  was  to  me.  And  he  wasn't 
ready  for  heaven,  either;  though  perhaps  he  did  send 
for  Mr.  Pence  to  talk  religion  to  him." 

"Did  my  father  send  for  Mr.  Pence  ?" 

"Yes.  He  asked  me  to  go  to  the  village  with  a  note 
for  Mr.  Pence.  I  could  not  find  Mr.  Pence  at  home, 
so  left  the  note  for  him.  Then  I  met  Henry,  and  re- 
turned, as  I  told  you,  after  ten  o'clock." 

"Did  Mr.  Pence  come  to  see  my  father?"  asked 
Bella  anxiously.  She  was  wondering  if  the  preacher 
had  by  any  chance  seen  Cyril  enter  the  house. 

"I  don't  know — I  can't  say — oh,  dear  me,  how 
dreadful  it  all  is!"  maundered  Mr.  Coppersley,  open- 
ing the  door  of  the  study.  "Just  look  for  yourself, 
Bella.  Your  father  lies  dead  in  his  blood.  Oh,  how  I 
hope  that  the  villain  who  killed  and  robbed  him  will 
be  hanged  and  drawn  and  quartered!  That  I  do,  the 
wretch,  the  viper,  the  beast !  I  must  get  some  rum.  I 
can't  stay  in  this  room  without  some  rum.  I  shall 
faint,  I  know  I  shall.  What's  the  time  ?  Seven  o'clock. 
Oh,  dear  me,  so  late !  I  must  send  Tunks  for  the  police. 
He  has  to  be  here  to  see  your  father,  and  oh,  dear  me, 
he  can't  see  your  father  unless  he  goes  to  heaven, 
where  I'm  sure  I  hope  Jabez  has  gone.    But  one  never 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  63 

knows,  and  he  certainly  was  most  disagreeable  to  me. 
Oh,  how  ill  I  am!  oh,  how  very,  very  bad  I  feel!"  and 
thus  lamenting  Mrs.  Coppersley  drifted  out  of  the 
room,  towards  the  back  part  of  the  premises,  leaving 
Bella  alone  with  the  dead  man. 

And  Captain  Huxham  was  dead,  stone  dead.  His 
body  lay  on  the  floor  between  the  desk  and  the  chair 
he  had  been  sitting  on.  From  the  position  of  the 
corpse,  Bella  judged  that  her  father  had  suddenly  risen 
to  meet  the  descending  weapon,  which  had  pierced  his 
heart.  But  not  being  able  to  defend  himself,  he  had 
fallen  dead  at  his  murderer's  feet.  With  a  cautious  re- 
membrance that  she  must  not  remove  anything  until  the 
police  came,  Bella  knelt  and  examined  the  body  care- 
fully, but  without  laying  a  finger  on  the  same.  The 
clothes  over  the  heart  had  been  pierced  by  some  ex- 
tremely sharp  instrument,  which  had  penetrated  even 
through  the  thick  pea-jacket  worn  by  the  dead  man. 
There  was  blood  on  the  cloth  and  on  the  floor,  and 
although  ignorant  of  medical  knowledge,  Bella  judged 
that  death  must  have  been  almost  instantaneous.  Other- 
wise there  would  have  been  signs  of  a  struggle,  as 
Captain  Huxham  would  not  have  submitted  tamely 
to  death.  But  the  casement  was  fast  closed,  the  furn- 
iture was  quite  orderly.  At  least,  Bella  judged  so 
when  she  first  looked  round,  for  no  chairs  were  upset ; 
but  on  a  second  glance  she  became  aware  that  the 
drawers  of  the  desk  were  open,  that  the  flexible  lid  of 
the  desk  was  up,  and  that  the  pigeon-holes  had  been 
emptied  of  their  papers.  Also — and  it  was  this  which 
startled  her  most — the  green-painted  safe  was  un- 
locked, and  through  the  door,  which  stood  ajar,  she 
could  see  that  the  papers  therein  were  likewise  in  dis- 
order.   In  fact,  some  of  them  were  lying  on  the  floor. 

Strongly  agitated,  Bella  constructed  a  theory  of  the 
murder,  and  saw,  as  in  a  vision — perhaps  wrongfully — 
what  had  taken  place.     The  captain  had  come  to  his 


64  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

desk  for  some  purpose,  but  hearing  a  noise,  or  perhaps 
suspecting  that  there  was  danger,  had  unexpectedly 
turned,  only  to  be  stabbed.  When  he  fell  dead,  the 
criminal  took  the  keys  of  the  safe  from  the  dead  man's 
pocket,  and  committed  the  robbery.  Then  he  examined 
the  pigeon-holes  of  the  desk,  and  afterwards  departed 
— probably  by  the  front  door,  since  the  casement  was 
closed.  Robbery,  undoubtedly,  was  the  motive  for  the 
commission  of  the  crime. 

The  girl  rose  to  her  feet,  drawing  a  long  breath  of  re- 
lief. Cyril  certainly  could  not  have  slain  her  father, 
since  Cyril  would  not  have  robbed.  The  young  man 
assuredly  had  come  to  the  house — she  could  swear  to 
that  herself — and  if  he  had  quarrelled  with  Huxham, 
he  might  have  struck  him  in  a  moment  of  anger.  But 
there  was  no  reason  to  believe  that  Cyril  would  rob 
the  safe.  Hence  there  must  be  another  person,  who 
had  committed  both  the  murder  and  the  robbery. 
Who  was  that  person  ? 

Mrs.  Coppersley  had  stated  plainly  that  Huxham 
had  sent  a  message  to  Pence,  asking  him  to  call.  Per- 
haps he  had  obeyed  the  summons,  after  Cyril  left,  and 
then  had  murdered  the  captain.  But  there  was  no  mo- 
tive for  so  timid  and  good-living  a  man  as  the  preacher 
to  slay  and  rob.  So  far  as  Bella  knew,  Pence  did  not 
want  money,  and — since  he  wished  to  make  her  his 
wife — it  was  imperative  that  Huxham  should  live  in 
order  to  forward  his  aims.  And  it  was  at  this  point 
that  the  girl  recalled,  with  a  shudder,  the  fact  that  Cyril 
had  confessed  his  need  for  one  thousand  pounds. 
Could  Lister  be  the  culprit,  after  all  ? 

"No,"  cried  Bella  aloud,  and  in  an  agony  of  shame; 
"the  man  I  love  could  not  be  guilty  of  so  vile  an  act." 
iSo  she  'tried  to  comfort  herself,  but  the  fact  of  Cyril's 
visit  to  the  house  still  lingered  in  her  mind. 

Shortly  Mrs.  Coppersley  returned  with  Tunks  at  her 
heels.    The  handy-man  of  Bleacres  was  a  medium-sized 


THE   SOLITARY  FARM  65 

individual,  with  a  swarthy  skin  and  beady  black  eyes 
peering  from  under  tangled  black  hair.  Lean  and  lithe, 
and  quick  in  his  movements,  he  betrayed  his  gypsy 
blood  immediately,  to  the  most  unobservant,  for  there 
was  something  Oriental  in  his  appearance.  Just  now 
he  looked  considerably  scared,  and  came  no  further 
than  the  door  of  the  room. 

"There's  your  master,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  point- 
ing to  the  dead,  "so  just  you  go  to  the  village  and  tell 
the  policeman  to  come  here.  Bella,  you  have  not 
touched  anything,  have  you?" 

Bella  shook  her  head.  "I  have  not  even  touched 
the  body,"  she  confessed  with  a  shudder.  "Tunks, 
were  you  about  the  house  last  night  ?" 

"No,  miss,"  said  the  man,  looking  more  scared  than 
ever.  "I  went  home  nigh  on  seven  o'clock,  and  was 
with  my  granny  all  the  evening.  I  know  nothing 
about  this,  miss." 

"I  don't  suppose  you  do,"  rejoined  the  girl  tartly, 
"but  I  thought  you  might  have  seen  my  father  later 
than  Mrs.  Coppersley  here." 

"I  left  the  house  last  night  at  the  same  time  as  you, 
ma'am,"  said  Tunks,  addressing  himself  to  the  house- 
keeper.   "You  locked  the  back  door  after  me." 

"Yes,"  acknowledged  Ms.  Coppersley  promptly,  "so 
you  did.  That  would  be  at  seven,  as  I  came  up  and  saw 
you,  Bella,  a  few  minutes  before,  with  the  tea  and 
toast.    You  didn't  come  back,  Tunks?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  retorted  the  gypsy  sullenly.  "You 
went  on  to  Marshely,  and  I  got  back  home.  I  never 
came  near  this  house  again  until  this  morning.  ^  You 
can  ask  my  granny  if  I  wasn't  in  bed  early  last  night." 

"When  did  you  see  your  master  last?"  questioned 
Bella. 

Tunks  removed  his  dingy  cap  to  scratch  his  untidy 
locks.  "It  would  be  about  six,  just  before  I  had  my 
tea.    He  wanted  to  reduce  my  wages,  too,  and  I  said  I'd 


66  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

give  him  notice  if  he  did.     But  I  suppose,"  growled 
Tunks,  with  his  eyes  on  the  remains,  "it's  notice  in 

any  case  now." 

"Never  you  mind  bothering  about  yourself,  cried 
Mrs.  Coppersley  sharply.  "Go  to  Marshely,  and  tell 
the  policeman  to  come  here.  Bella,  she  moved  to  the 
door,  "let  us  leave  the  room  and  lock  the  door.  Noth- 
ing must  be  touched  until  the  truth  is  known." 

"Will  the  truth  ever  be  known?"  asked  the  girl 
drearily,  as  she  went  into  the  hall,  and  watched  her 
aunt  lock  the  door  of  the  death-room. 

"Of  course,"  retorted  the  elder  woman,  "one  person 
cannot  murder  another  person  without  being  seen." 

"I  don't  know  so  much  about  that,  Aunt  Rosamund. 
You  and  Tunks  were  away,  and  I  was  locked  in  my 
room,  so  anyone  could  enter,  and "she  glanced  to- 
wards the  study  door  and  shuddered. 

"Did  you  see  anyone?"  asked  Mrs.  Coppersley 
quickly. 

Bella  started.  "No,"  she  replied,  with  unnecessary 
loudness;  "how  could  I  see  anyone  when  I  was 
drugged?" 

"Drugged,  miss?"  cried  Tunks,  pricking  up  his  ears. 

Mrs.  Coppersley  turned  on  the  handy-man,  and 
stamped.  "How  dare  you  linger  here?"  she  cried. 
"You  should  be  half  way  to  the  village  by  this  time. 
Miss  Bella  was  having  wakeful  nights,  and  her  father 
gave  her  a  sleeping  draught.  Off  with  you,"  and  she 
drove  Tunks  out  of  the  front  door. 

"Why  did  you  tell  such  a  lie?"  asked  Bella  when 
the  man  was  hurrying  down  the  path,  eager,  like  all 
his  tribe,  to  carry  bad  news. 

"A  lie!  a  lie!"  Mrs.  Coppersley  placed  her  arms 
akimbo  and  looked  defiant.  "Why  do  you  call  it  a 
lie?  You  did  complain  of  sleepless  nights,  and  you 
did  say  that  the  tea,  poured  out  by  Jabez,  was 
drugged." 


THE   SOLITARY  FARM  67 

"That  is  true  enough,"  admitted  the  girl  quietly, 
"but  I  merely  slept  badly  because  of  the  hot  weather, 
and  never  asked  my  father  for  a  sleeping " 

"Oh!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Coppersley,  tossing  her 
head.  "What  does  it  matter.  I  can't  even  say  if  the 
tea  was  drugged." 

"I'll  learn  that  soon,"  replied  Bella  drily,  "for  I 
have  locked  up  the  cup  containing  the  dregs  of  tea. 
My  father  no  doubt  feared  lest  I  should  run  away 
with  Cyril,  and  so  drugged  it." 

"The  least  said  the  soonest  mended,  Bella.  Say 
nothing  of  the  drugging  at  the  inquest,  as  there  is  no 
need  to  blacken  your  father's  character." 

"I  don't  see  that  anything  I  could  say  would  black- 
en my  father's  character,  Aunt  Rosamund.  Of  course, 
he  had  no  business  to  drug  me,  but  if  I  am  asked  at 
the  inquest  I  shall  tell  the  truth." 

"And  so  your  connection  with  that  Lister  person 
will  come  out." 

Bella  turned  on  her  aunt  in  a  fury.  "What  do  I 
care  ?"  she  cried,  stamping.  "I  have  a  right  to  marry 
him  if  I  choose,  and  I  don't  care  if  all  the  world  knows 
how  I  love  him.  In  fact,  the  whole  world  soon  will 
know." 

Well,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  with  an  air  of  wash- 
ing her  hands  of  the  entire  affair,  "say  what  you  like ; 
but  don't  blame  me  if  you  find  yourself  in  an  unpleas- 
ant position." 

Bella,  who  was  ascending  the  stairs,  turned  to 
answer  this  last  remark  promptly.  "Why  should  I 
find  myself  in  an  unpleasant  position?"  she  demanded. 
"Do  you  accuse  me  of  murdering  father  ?" 

"God  forbid!  God  forbid!"  cried  Mrs.  Coppersley 
piously  and  with  a  shudder,  "but  you  cannot  deny  that 
you  were  alone  in  the  house." 

"And  locked  in  my  bedroom,  as  you  can  testify." 

"Oh,  I'll  say  that  willingly.    But  you'd  better  wash 


68  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

out   that   cup   of   dregs,   and   say    nothing    more." 

"I  have  already  mentioned  the  matter  in  Tunks' 
hearing,  so  I  must  explain  further  if  necessary.  But 
I'll  say  why  I  believe  my  father  acted  so.  Your 
story  of  sleepless  nights  will  not  do  for  me." 

"You'll  blacken  the  memory  of  the  dead,"  groaned 
Mrs.  Coppersley  dismally.  "Ah,  you  never  loved  your 
poor  father." 

"Did  you?"  asked  Bella  suddenly. 

"In  a  way  I  did,  and  in  a  way  I  didn't,"  said  her 
aunt  evasively.  "Jabez  never  was  the  brother  he  should 
have  been  to  me.  But  a  daughter's  nearer  than 
a  sister,  and  you  should  have  loved  him  to  dis- 
traction." 

"In  spite  of  the  way  he  behaved  to  me." 

"He  had  to  keep  a  firm  hand  over  your  high  spirit." 

"Aunt  Rosamund,"  burst  out  Bella  at  white  heat. 
"Why  do  you  talk  in  this  silly  way?  You  know  that 
both  to  you  and  to  me  my  father  acted  like  a  cruel 
tyrant,  and  that  while  he  was  alive  we  could  do  noth- 
ing to  please  him.  I  don't  want  to  speak  ill  of  the 
dead,  but  you  know  what  I  say  is  true." 

"We  are  none  of  us  perfect,"  snuffled  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley,  wiping  her  eyes,  "and  I  daresay  Jabez  was  worse 
than  many  others.  But  I  was  a  good  sister  to  him, 
in  spite  of  his  horrid  ways.  I'm  sure  my  life's  been 
spent  in  looking  after  other  people:  first  my  mother, 
then  my  husband,  and  afterwards  Jabez.  Now  I'll 
marry  Henry  Vand,  and  be  happy." 

"Don't  talk  of  happiness  with  that" — Bella  pointed 
downward  to  the  study — "in  the  house.  Go  and  make 
yourself  tidy,  aunt,  and  I'll  do  the  same.  We  have  a 
very  trying  day  before  us." 

"So  like  Jabez,  so  very  like  Jabez,"  wailed  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley, while  Bella  fled  up  the  stairs.  "He  always 
brought  trouble  on  everyone.  Even  as  a  little  boy, 
he  behaved  like  the  pirate  he  was.    Oh,  dear  me,  how 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  69 

ill  I  feel.  Bella !  Bella !  come  down  and  see  me  faint. 
Bella!  Bella!" 

But  the  girl  did  not  answer,  as  she  knew  that  Mrs. 
Coppersley  only  wished  to  gossip.  Going  to  her  own 
room,  she  again  examined  the  cup  with  the  dregs, 
which  she  had  not  locked  up,  in  spite  of  her  saying  so 
to  Mrs.  Coppersley.  Undoubtedly,  the  tea  tasted  bit- 
ter, and  she  resolved  to  have  it  analysed  so  as  to  prove 
to  herself  the  fact  of  the  drugging.  She  knew  perfect- 
ly well  that  her  father  had  attended  to  the  tea  himself, 
evidently  to  render  her  helpless  in  case  she  meditated 
flight  with  Cyril.  And  in  dong  so,  he  had  indirectly 
brought  about  his  own  death,  for  had  she  been  awake 
she  could  have  descended  from  the  window  to  be 
present  at  the  interview  which  had  ended  so  fatally. 
And  at  this  point — while  she  was  locking  up  the  cup 
in  a  convenient  cupboard — Bella  became  aware  that 
she  was  thinking  as  though  her  lover  were  actually 
guilty  of  the  deed. 

Of  course  he  could  not  be,  she  decided  desperately, 
even  though  things  looked  black  against  him.  Lister, 
honest  and  frank,  would  not  murder  an  old  man  in  so 
treacherous  a  manner,  however  he  might  be  goaded 
into  doing  so.  And  yet  she  had  assuredly  seen  him 
enter  the  house.  If  she  could  only  have  seen  him  de- 
part; but  the  drug  had  prevented  that  welcome  sight. 
Pence  might  have  struck  the  blow,  but  Pence  had  no 
reason  to  do  so,  and  in  fact  had  every  inducement  to 
keep  Huxham  alive.  Bella  could  not  read  the  riddle 
of  the  murder.  All  she  knew  was  that  it  would  be 
necessary  for  her  to  hold  her  tongue  about  Lister's  un- 
expected visit  to  the  Solitary  Farm. 

"But  I  shall  never  be  able  to  marry  him  after  this," 
she  wailed. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   INQUEST 

Tunks  lost  no  time  in  delivering  his  gruesome  mes- 
sage and  in  spreading  the  news  of  the  death.  While 
the  village  policeman  telegraphed  to  his  superior  of- 
ficer at  Pierside,  the  handy-man  of  the  late  Captain 
Huxham  adopted  the  public-house  as  a  kind  of  St. 
Paul's  Cross,  whence  to  promulgate  the  grim  intelli- 
gence. Here  he  passed  a  happy  and  exciting  hour 
detailing  all  that  had  happened,  to  an  awe-stricken 
crowd,  members  of  which  supplied  him  with  free 
drinks.  The  marsh-folk  were  a  dull,  peaceful,  law- 
abiding  people,  and  it  was  rarely  that  crimes  were 
committed  in  the  district.  Hence  the  news  of  the 
murder  caused  a  tremendous  sensation. 

Captain  Jabez  Huxham  was  well  known,  and  his  ec- 
centricity in  the  matter  of  planting  Bleacres  with  yearly 
corn  had  been  much  commented  upon.  In  Napoleonic 
times  the  fertile  marsh  farms  had  been  golden  with 
grain,  but  of  late  years,  owing  to  Russian  and  Ameri- 
can competition,  little  had  been  sown.  Huxham,  as 
the  rustics  argued,  could  not  have  got  even  moderate 
prices  for  its  crops,  so  it  puzzled  one  and  all  why  he 
persisted  in  his  unprofitable  venture.  But  there  would 
be  no  more  sowing  at  Bleacres  now,  for  the  captain 
himself  was  about  to  be  put  under  the  earth. 
"And  a  grand  funeral  he'll  have,"  said  the  rustics, 
morbidly  alive  to  the  importance  of  the  grim  event. 
For  thirty  years  no  crime  of  this  magnitude  had  been 
committed  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  violent  death 
of  Huxham  provided  these  bovine  creatures  with  a 
new  thrill. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  71 

Meanwhile  the  policeman,  Dutton  by  name,  had 
proceeded  to  Bleacres,  followed — when  the  news 
became  more  widely  known — by  a  large  and  curious 
throng.  For  that  day  and  for  tl*e  following  days,  until 
Huxham's  body  was  buried,  Bleacres  could  no  longer 
be  called  the  solitary  farm,  in  one  sense  of  the  word. 
But  the  inherent  respect  of  the  agriculturist  for  grow- 
ing crops  kept  the  individual  members  of  the  crowd, 
male  and  female,  to  the  narrow  path  which  led  from 
the  boundary  channel  to  the  front  door  of  the  Manor- 
house.  When  Inspector  Inglis  arrived  with  three  or 
four  policemen  from  Pierside,  he  excluded  the  public 
from  the  grounds,  but  the  curious  still  hovered  in  the 
distance — beyond  Jordan  as  it  were — with  inquisitive 
eyes  fastened  on  the  quaint  old  mansion.  To  them, 
one  and  all,  it  now  assumed  portentous  proportions  as 
the  abode  of  terror. 

Inspector  Inglis  was  a  very  quiet  man,  who  said 
little,  but  who  kept  his  eyes  on  the  alert.  He  in- 
spected the  body  of  the  dead  man,  and  then  sent  for  a 
doctor,  who  delivered  his  report  in  due  course.  The 
study  was  examined  thoroughly,  and  the  entire  house 
was  searched  from  cellar  to  garret.  Then  Bella  and 
her  aunt  were  questioned,  and  Tunks  was  also  put  in 
the  witness  box.  But  in  spite  of  all  official  curosity, 
backed  by  official  power  on  the  part  of  Inglis,  he  con- 
vened the  jury  of  the  inquest,  as  ignorant  of  the  truth 
as  when  he  had  begun  his  search.  He  certainly  found 
a  blood-stained  dagger  behind  the  massive  mahogany 
desk,  with  which  undoubtedly  the  crime  had  been 
committed;  but  he  could  discover  no  trace  of  the  as- 
sassin, and  three  or  four  days  later,  when  the  inquest 
took  place  in  the  Manor-house,  the  mystery  of  the 
murder  was  still  unsolved.  Nor,  on  the  evidence  pro- 
curable, did  there  seem  to  be  any  chance  of  solution. 

During  the  early  part  of  the  inquiry,  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley  had  told  Inglis  how  her  late  brother  had  sent  her 


72  .THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

with  a  note  to  Marshely  asking  Silas  Pence  to  call. 
When  questioned,  the  preacher,  not  without  agita- 
tion and  dismay,  stated  that  he  had  been  absent  from 
his  lodgings  until  eleven  o'clock  on  the  fatal  evening, 
and  had  not  obeyed  the  summons  of  the  deceased. 
Certainly  on  his  return  he  had  found  and  read  the 
note  asking  him  to  call,  but  as  the  hour  was  late,  he 
had  deferred  the  visit  until  the  next  morning.  Then, 
of  course,  the  news  of  the  murder  had  been  made  pub- 
lic, and  Pence  had  said  nothing  until  questioned  by  the 
Inspector.  But  he  was  quite  frank  and  open  in  his  re- 
plies, and  Inglis  was  satisfied  that  the  young  preacher 
knew  nothing  about  the  matter. 

From  the  moment  when  informed  by  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley  of  the  crime  until  the  inquest,  Bella  suffered  greatly. 
At  her  request,  Dr.  Ward — the  medical  man  who  had 
reported  on  the  time  and  manner  of  Huxham's  death 
— had  examined  the  dregs  of  the  tea-cup.  Beyond 
doubt,  as  he  discovered,  laudanum  had  been  poured 
into  the  tea,  and  so  largely,  that  it  was  little  wonder 
she  had  slept  so  soundly.  Even  had  there  been  a  strug- 
gle, as  Ward  assured  her,  she  would  not  have  heard 
the  commotion.  And,  as  the  state  of  the  study  showed 
that  the  murderer  had  taken  his  victim  unawares,  it 
was  little  to  be  wondered  at  that  Bella  woke  in  igno- 
rance of  what  had  taken  place  during  the  night.  She 
was  thankful  to  have  the  testimony  of  the  young  phys- 
ician as  to  the  drugging,  since  thereby  she  was  en- 
tirely exonerated  from  complicity  in  the  crime.  For, 
dreadful  as  it  may  seem,  there  were  those  evil-seekers 
who  hinted  that  Huxham's  daughter,  having  been 
alone  in  the  house,  must  be  aware  of  the  truth,  if  not 
actually  guilty  herself.  But  Bella  knew  that  the  evi- 
dence of  Dr.  Ward  and  Mrs.  Coppersley  as  to  the 
drugging  and  the  locking  of  the  bedroom  door  would 
clear  her  character. 

It  was  therefore  not  on  this  account  that  she  suf- 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  73 

fered,  but  because  of  the  inexplicable  absence  of  Cyril 
Lister.  Since  she  had  seen  him  enter  the  house  shortly 
after  eight  o'clock  on  the  fatal  night  she  had  not  set 
eyes  on  him,  nor  had  she  received  any  communication. 
At  a  time  when  she  needed  him  so  greatly,  it  seemed 
strange  that  her  lover  should  be  absent,  since  the  fact 
of  the  murder,  now  being  known  all  over  England,  it 
appeared  inredible  that  he  alone  should  be  ignorant. 
In  spite  of  her  desire  to  believe  him  guiltless,  this  con- 
duct looked  decidedly  suspicious.  If  nothing  serious 
had  taken  place  between  Cyril  and  her  father  on  the 
night  in  question,  why  had  Lister  gone  away?  At 
least  she  surmised  that  he  had  gone  away,  as  he  did 
not  appear  to  be  in  the  village,  and  she  heard  no 
mention  of  his  name  from  the  many  people  who 
haunted  the  house.  Try  as  she  might,  Bella,  dearly  as 
she  loved  the  young  man,  could  not  rid  herself  of  the 
frightful  belief  that  he  had  struck  the  blow.  Con- 
sidering the  circumstances,  which  she  alone  knew 
fully,  he  had  every  reason  to  commit  the  crime.  Yet 
in  the  face  of  the  strongest  circumstantial  evidence, 
Bella  could  not  bring  herself  to  credit  Cyril's  guilt. 
Day  after  day,  like  sister  Anne,  she  climbed  to  the 
quarter-deck  to  see  if  he  was  coming.  But  the  day 
of  the  inquest  came  in  due  course,  and  even  then  he 
had  not  put  in  an  appearance. 

The  Coroner  was  a  grim,  snappy  old  doctor,  who 
set  forth  the  object  of  the  inquest  gruffly  and  tersely. 
The  jury  under  his  direction  inspected  the  body  and 
then  gathered  in  the  large  and  stately  dining-room  of 
the  Manor-house  to  consider  the  evidence.  Inspector 
Inglis  confessed  that  he  had  few  witnesses,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  evidence  likely  to  lead  to  the 
arrest  of  the  murderer.  Robbery,  said  the  officer,  was 
undoubtedly  the  cause  of  the  crime,  since  the  desk 
had  been  rifled,  and  the  safe  had  been  forced  open. 
Mrs.  Coppersley,  the  sister  of  the  deceased,  he  went 


74  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

on  to  say,  could  state  that  she  knew  her  brother  kept 
at  least  one  hundred  pounds  in  gold  in  the  safe.  This 
was  missing,  so  probably 

"We'll  take  things  in  order,  if  you  please,"  snapped 
the  gruff  Coroner  at  this  point  of  the  Inspector's 
speech.     "Call  your  witnesses." 

Inglis  was  only  too  willing,  and  Dr.  Ward  gave  his 
evidence,  which  proved  that  in  his  opinion,  after  an 
examination  of  the  body,  the  deceased  had  been 
stabbed  to  the  heart  between  the  hours  of  eight  and 
eleven  on  the  night  in  question.  Witness  could  not  be 
more  precise,  he  said,  a  confession  which  brought  a 
grunt  from  the  Coroner.  The  old  doctor  lifted  his 
eye-brows  to  intimate  that  the  young  doctor  did  not 
know  his  business  over  well,  else  he  would  have  been 
more  explicit.  But  Dr.  Ward  avoided  an  argument 
by  hurriedly  stating  that,  according  to  his  opinion — 
another  grunt  from  the  snappy  Coroner — the  wound 
had  been  inflicted  with  the  dagger  found  behind  the 
mahogany  desk. 

This  remark  led  to  the  production  of  the  dagger,  a 
foot-long  steel,  broad  towards  the  hilt  and  tapering  to 
a  sharp  point.  This  was  set  in  a  handle  of  jet-black 
wood,  carved  into  the  semblance  of  an  ugly  negro. 
And  the  ©dd  part  about  the  blade  was  that  the  middle 
portion  of  the  steel  was  perforated  with  queer  letters 
of  the  cuniform  type,  and  filled  in  with  copper.  The 
Coroner  frowned  when  he  examined  this  strange 
weapon,  and  he  looked  inquiringly  at  Mrs.  Coppersley. 

"Does  this  belong  to  your  late  brother?"  he  asked 
jerkily. 

Mrs.  Coppersley  looked  at  the  knife.  "Jabez,  being  a 
sailor,  had  all  manner  of  queer  things,"  she  said  hesi- 
tatingly, "but  I  never  set  my  eyes  on  that.  He  wasn't 
one  to  show  what  he  had,  rffr." 

"Was  your  brother  ever  in  Africa  on  the  West 
Coast?" 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  75 

"He  was  all  over  the  world,  but  I  can't  rightly  say 
where,  sir.     Why?" 

"This,"  the  gruff  Coroner  shook  the  weapon,  "is 
an  African  sacrificial  knife  in  use  on  the  West  Coast. 
From  the  way  in  which  the  copper  is  welded  into  the 
steel,  I  fancy  some  Nigerian  tribe  possessed  it.  The 
members  of  tribes  thereabouts  are  clever  metal-work- 
ers. The  handle  and  the  lettering  also  remind  me  of 
something,"  mused  the  doctor,  "for  I  was  a  long  time 
out  in  Senegal  and  Sierra  Leone  and  saw — and  saw — 
but  that's  no  matter.  How  comes  an  African  sacrificial 
knife  here?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley 
promptly.  "Jabez,  as  I  say,  had  all  manner  of  queer 
things  which  he  didn't  show  me." 

"You  can't  say  if  this  knife  belonged  to  him?" 

"No,  sir,  I  can't.  The  murderer  may  have  brought 
it." 

"You  are  not  here  to  give  opinions,"  growled  the 
doctor,  throwing  the  ugly-looking  weapon  on  the  table. 
"Are  you  sure,"  he  added  to  Ward,  "that  the  wound 
was  made  with  this  knife?" 

"Yes,  I'm  sure,"  replied  the  young  practitioner, 
tartly,  for  the  Coroner's  ataitude  annoyed  him.  "The 
weapon  is  sharp  pointed  and  fits  the  wound.  Also  the 
deceased  wore  a  thick  pea-jacket  and  only  such  a  knife 
could  have  penetrated  the  cloth." 

"If  the  blow  were  struck  with  sufficient  force," 
snapped  the  Coroner. 

"It  was,"  rejoined  the  witness.  "Have  you  any 
more  questions  to  ask  me?" 

The  Coroner  nodded,  and  Ward  gave  surgical  de- 
tails to  prove  that  death  must  have  taken  place  almost 
instantaneously,  since  Huxham  had  been  stabbed  to 
the  heart.  "Apparently  deceased  heard  a  noise,  and 
rose  suddenly  from  his  chair  at  the  desk  to  face  round 
in  self-defence.     But  the  assassin  was  too  quick  for 


76  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

him,  and  struck  the  knife  to  deceased's  heart  with 
great  force  as  is  apparent  from " 

"That's  all  supposition,"  contradicted  the  Coroner 
rudely.    "Stick  to  facts." 

Boiling  with  rage,  the  young  doctor  confined  him- 
self forthwith  to  a  bald  statement  of  what  he  had 
discovered  and  then  was  curtly  dismissed  to  give  place 
to  Mrs.  Coppersley. 

That  lady  was  voluble  and  sharp-tongued,  so  that 
the  Coroner  quite  met  with  his  match,  much  to  the 
delight  of  Dr.  Ward,  smarting  under  much  discourt- 
esy. Mrs.  Coppersley  deposed  that  she  had  left  the 
house  at  seven  o'clock,  by  the  back  door,  with  a  note 
for  Mr.  Silas  Pence  from  her  brother,  asking  him  to 
call  at  the  Manor-house.  She  left  the  note  at  Mr. 
Pence's  lodgings  and  then  went  on  to  the  grocery  shop 
to  make  some  purchases  and  to  see  Mrs.  Vand  and  her 
son  Henry.  There  she  remained  until  a  quarter  to  ten 
o'clock  and  afterwards  returned  to  the  Manor-house. 
Mr.  Vand  saw  her  as  far  as  the  boundary  channel  and 
then  went  home. 

"What  time  was  that?"  asked  the  Coroner,  mak- 
ing notes. 

"Just  at  ten,"  replied  witness,  flushing  at  the  smile 
on  the  faces  of  those  who  knew  of  the  love  romance. 
"The  clock  struck  ten  while  I  was  speaking  to  Henry 
— I  mean  to  Mr.  Vand — and  not  knowing  that  it  was 
so  late  I  feared  lest  my  brother  should  be  angry.  Jabez 
was  always  very  particular  as  to  the  house  being  locked 
up,  so  I  thought  he  might  shut  me  out.  I  went  in  by 
the  back  door,  having  the  key,  and  retired  at  once  to 
bed." 

"Did  you  not  see  your  brother?"  asked  the  Coro- 
ner. 

"No,  sir.  Knowing  Jabez's  violent  temper  I  had  no 
wish  to  see  him,  lest  there  should  be  trouble.  I  went 
on  tip-toe  to  bed,  after  locking  the  back  door." 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  77 

"Did  you  hear  Mr.  Huxham  moving  about,"  quest- 
ioned a  juryman,  timidly. 

"No,  Mr.  Tatters,  I  didn't.  Everything  was  quiet 
as  I  passed  the  door  of  the  study,  and  it  was  closed." 

"Did  you  see  a  light  in  the  window  of  the  study 
when  at  the  boundary  channel  with  Mr.  Vand?"  asked 
the  Coroner. 

"No ;  I  looked  too,"  said  the  witness,  "for  if  Jabez 
had  been  up,  there  would  have  been  trouble  owing  to 
my  being  late.  But  there  was  no  light  in  the  window, 
so  I  fancied  Jabez  might  have  gone  to  bed  and  have 
locked  me  out.  But  he  hadn't  guessed  I  was  absent, 
and  so " 

"Did  you  see  a  light  under  the  study  door  when 
passing  through  the  hall?" 

"No,  and  that  made  me  believe  that  Jabez  had  gone 
to  bed.  But  I  didn't  think  of  looking  into  the  study ;  if 
I  had,"  witness  shuddered,  "oh  dear  me,  how  very 
dreadful  it  all  is.  Well,  then  I  went  to  bed,  and  next 
morning  came  down  early  to  clean  the  study.  When 
I  entered  I  saw  my  brother  dead  in  his  gore,  whereup- 
on I  ran  up  stairs  and  got  Bella  to  come  down.  Then 
we  sent  for  the  police,  and  that's  all  I  know." 

The  Coroner  looked  towards  Ward.  "This  evi- 
dence takes  an  hour  off  your  time  of  death,  doctor," 
he  said  sourly.  "You  say  that  the  man  was  murdered 
after  eight  and  before  eleven.  Well  then,  as  this  wit- 
ness reached  the  house  just  after  ten  and  saw  no  light 
in  the  study  the  deceased  must  have  been  dead  when 
she  passed  through  the  hall  on  her  way  to  bed." 

"Oh,"  groaned  Mrs.  Coppersley,  with  her  handker- 
chief to  her  lips.  "How  dreadful  if  I'd  looked  in  to 
see  Jabez  weltering  in  his  gore." 

"It's  a  pity  you  didn't,"  rejoined  the  Coroner  sharp- 
ly, "for  then  you  could  have  given  the  alarm  and  the 
assassin  might  have  been  arrested." 

"Yes,"  cried  Mrs.   Coppersley  violently,  "and  the 


78  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

assassin  might  have  been  in  the  house  at  the  moment, 
with  only  two  women,  mind,  and  one  of  them  drugged. 
I  should  have  been  killed  myself  had  I  given  the  alarm, 
so  I'm   glad  I  didn't." 

"Drugged!  Drugged!  What  do  you  mean  by  drug- 
ged?" 

"Ask  Bella,"  retorted  Mrs.  Coppersley.  "I've  told 
all  I'm  going  to  tell." 

"Not  all,"  said  the  Coroner,  "was  the  front  door 
locked?" 

"I  didn't  notice  at  the  time,  being  anxious  to  escape 
Jabez  and  get  to  bed." 

"Did  you  notice  if  it  was  locked  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes,  when  I  opened  it  for  Tunks  to  go  for  the 
police." 

"It  zvas  locked,"  said  Bella,  rising  at  this  juncture, 
"but  Tunks  opened  it  while  I  was  talking  with  my  aunt 
in  the  hall." 

"You  can  give  your  evidence  when  I  ask  you," 
snapped  the  Coroner  rudely.  "Humph !  So  the  front 
door  was  locked  and  the  back  door  also.  How  did 
the  assassin  escape?  He  couldn't  have  gone  by  the 
front  door  after  committing  the  crime,  since  the  key 
was  in  the  inside,  and  you  locked  the  back  door  coming 
and  going,  Mrs.  Coppersley." 

"The  murdering  beast,"  said  the  witness  melodra- 
matically, "might  have  got  out  of  the  study  window." 

"Then  he  must  be  a  very  small  man,"  retorted  the 
Coroner,  "for  only  a  small  man  could  scramble 
through  the  window.    I  examined  it  an  hour  ago." 

"Please  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  with  an 
air  of  indifference,  "all  I  know  is,  that  I'm  glad  I 
didn't  discover  Jabez  in  his  gore  on  that  night  and  at 
that  hour.    If  I  had,  you'd  be  holding  an  inquest  on 


me. 


"Possibly.     If  the  assassin  was  in  the  study  when 
you  passed  through  the  hall,  Mrs.  Coppersley." 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  79 

"Ugh,"  shivered  the  witness,  "and  that's  just  where 
he  was,  depend  upon  it,  sir,  getting  through  the  win- 
dow, when  he'd  dropped  the  knife  behind  the  desk. 
Oh,  what  an  escape  I've  had,"  wept  Mrs.  Coppersley. 

"There,  there,  don't  bellow,"  said  the  Coroner, 
testily,  "get  down  and  let  the  witness,  Luke  Tunks, 
be  called." 

The  Bleacres  handy-man  had  very  little  to  say,  but 
gave  his  evidence  in  a  straightforward  manner.  He 
had  left  the  house  with  Mrs.  Coppersley  at  seven  and 
had  gone  straight  home  to  bed,  as  he  was  tired.  His 
grandmother  could  depose  to  the  fact  that  he  was  in 
bed  until  the  morning.  Then  he  came  as  usual  to  the 
Manor-house,  and  found  that  his  master  was  dead. 
He  admitted  that  he  had  quarrelled  with  his  master 
over  a  possible  curtailment  of  wages,  and  they  had 
not  parted  in  a  very  friendly  spirit.  "But  you  can't 
say  as  I  did  for  him,"  ended  the  witness  defiantly. 

"No  one  suggests  such  a  thing,"  snapped  the  Coro- 
ner. "Had  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  deceased 
expected  to  be  murdered?" 

Tunks  scratched  his  head,  "I  have  and  I  haven't," 
he  said  at  length;  "master  did  seem  afraid  of  some- 
one, as  he  was  always  looking  over  his  shoulder.  He 
said  that  he  planted  the  corn  so  that  there  should  be 
only  one  path  up  to  the  house.  Then  he  rigged  up  that 
out-look  round  the  chimney  there,"  witness  jerked 
his  head  towards  the  ceiling,  "and  he's  got  a  search- 
light there  also,  which  he  turned  on  at  times." 

The  Coroner  nodded.  The  late  Captain's  search- 
light was  well-known,  but  it  was  only  put  down  as 
another  freak  on  the  part  of  a  freakish  man.  But  the 
remark  of  the  witness  about  the  corn  was  new.  "Do 
you  mean  to  say  that  the  deceased  planted  the  corn  as 
a  protection  against  some  one  coming  on  him  un- 
awares?" 

"Yes,  I  do,"  said  Tunks,  sturdily,  "corn  don't  pay, 


80  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

and  there  was  always  only  one  pathway  left.     Now 
my  idea  is " 

"We  don't  want  to  hear  your  ideas,"  said  the  Coro- 
ner; "get  down.    Silas  Pence." 

The  young  preacher's  examination  occupied  only 
a  few  minutes.  He  said  that  he  was  absent  from  his 
lodgings  until  eleven,  and  then  returned  to  find  the 
note.  As  it  was  late  he  did  not  call,  and  went  to  bed, 
as  his  landlady  could  prove.  He  had  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  Captain  Huxham  expected  to  be  murdered, 
and  considered  that  the  old  sailor  was  more  than  capa- 
ble of  looking  after  himself.  Witness  was  very 
friendly  with  the  Captain  and  wished  to  marry  Miss 
Huxham,  an  arrangement  to  which  the  Captain  was 
quite  agreeable.  Witness  presumed  that  Huxham 
wished  to  see  him  about  the  projected  marriage  when 
he  wrote  the  note  asking  witness  to  call.  Next  morn- 
ing when  about  to  pay  the  visit,  witness  heard  of  the 
murder. 

Bella  was  the  final  witness,  and  stepped  before  the 
Coroner  and  the  inquisitive  jurymen,  looking  pale,  but 
composed.  She  gave  her  evidence  carefully,  as  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  say  nothing  about  Cyril's  visit 
on  the  fatal  night.  Also  she  was  grateful  that  in  his 
statement  Pence  had  said  nothing  of  Lister's  rivalry. 
She  noted  also  that  Pence  had  kept  quiet  about  the 
offer  of  her  hand  as  a  reward  for  the  death  of  Cyril 
made  by  her  father  to  the  preacher.  More  than  ever 
she  believed  this  wild  declaration  to  be  due  to  imagi- 
nation on  the  young  man's  part. 

"What  have  you  to  say  about  this  matter,  Miss 
Huxham?"  asked  the  coroner  in  his  usual  gruff 
way. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  she  replied. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  he  echoed,  and  the  jurymen  looked 
at  one  another. 

"No.    I  had  quarrelled  with  my  father  on  the  after- 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  81 

noon  of  the  night  when  he  met  with  his  terrible  death. 
He  refused  to  let  me  come  to  supper,  so  I  retired  to 
my  room.  Mrs.  Coppersley  brought  me  up  tea  and 
toast  and  then  locked  me  in  my  room." 

"By  her  father's  orders,"  cried  Mrs.  Coppersley, 
rising. 

"Silence,"  said  the  Coroner  scowling;  "but  surely, 
Miss  Huxham,  you  could  have  heard  if — — " 

"I  heard  nothing,"  interrupted  Bella,  straightening 
her  slim  figure,  "for  I  was  drugged." 

"H'm!"  The  Coroner  looked  at  her  shrewdly. 
"Mrs.  Coppersley  said  something  of  that.  Why  were 
you  drugged?    Who  drugged  you?" 

"My  father  drugged  the  cup  of  tea,  brought  by  my 
aunt,  with  laudanum,"  said  Bella  bravely,  determined 
to  speak  out,  yet  conscious  of  the  curious  faces. 

"Yes,  he  did,"  cried  Mrs.  Coppersley.  "I  brought 
the  tea  to  the  study  and  then  went  to  get  the  toast. 
Jabez  had  poured  out  the  tea  when  I  came  back,  and 
giving  me  a  cup  told  me  to  take  it  to  Bella.  I  never 
knew  myself  that  it  was  drugged." 

"But  I  can  state  that  it  was,"  said  Dr.  Ward,  rising. 
Miss  Huxham  gave  me  the  dregs  to  examine.  I  can 
prove " 

The  Coroner  intervened  testily.  "All  this  is  very 
much  out  of  order,"  he  said.  "Let  us  proceed  with 
caution.  Miss  Huxham,  tell  your  story,  and  then  we 
can  hear  Dr.  Ward  and  Mrs.  Coppersley." 

"I  have  scarcely  any  story  to  tell,"  said  Bella,  still 
apprehensive,  yet  still  brave  and  discreet.  "I  am  en- 
gaged to  be  married,  but  my  father  did  not  approve 
of  my  choice.  He  interrupted  my  meeting  with  my 
future  husband " 

"Who  is  he,  if  I  may  ask?" 

"Mr.  Lister.  He  is  a  gentleman  who  has  been  stop- 
ping here " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know ;"  and  the  Coroner  did  know,  for 


82  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

his  wife  was  a  great  gossip  and  collected  all  the  scan- 
dal for  miles  around.  In  fact  he  had  heard  something 
of  the  philandering  of  Lister  after  Miss  Huxham. 
"Go  on." 

Bella  proceeded.  "My  father  would  not  allow  me 
to  come  to  supper,  and  sent  up  my  aunt  with  tea  and 
toast  to  lock  me  in  my  room.  She  did  so.  I  did  not 
eat  the  toast,  but  I  drank  the  tea,  and  then  fell  asleep 
half  on  the  floor  and  half  on  my  bed.  My  aunt  awoke 
me  in  the  morning  with  the  news  of  what  had  hap- 
pened." 

"And  you  heard  nothing?" 

"How  could  she,"  growled  Ward,  "when  she  was 
drugged." 

"Silence  there,"  said  the  Coroner  sharply.  "What 
time  did  you  fall  under  the  influence  of  the  opiate, 
Miss  Huxham?" 

"Shortly  after  eight,  so  far  as  I  can  recollect." 

"Did  you  know  that  the  tea  was  drugged?" 

"If  I  had  I  should  not  have  drunk  it,"  retorted  the 
witness.  "It  was  only  next  morning  that  I  guessed 
the  truth,  and  then  I  kept  the  dregs  for  Dr.  Ward  to 
examine.    He  says " 

"He  can  give  his  evidence  himself,"  interrupted  the 
Coroner.    "Why  did  your  father  drug  you?" 

"I  can't  say,  sir,  unless  he  feared  lest  I  should  elope 
with  Mr.  Lister." 

"Had  you  any  such  intention?" 

"No,  I  had  not." 

The  Coroner  looked  at  her  earnestly  and  pinched 
his  lip,  apparently  nonplussed.  The  whole  affair 
struck  him  as  strange,  and  he  cross-examined  the  girl 
carefully.  When  he  examined  Mrs.  Coppersley  and 
Ward,  both  of  them  bore  out  the  improbable  story — 
in  the  Coroner's  opinion — told  by  the  girl.  Finally 
the  old  doctor  accepted  the  testimony  and  dismissed 
the  witnesses. 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  83 

"I  can't  compliment  you  on  the  conduct  of  this  case, 
Inspector  Inglis,"  he  said,  when  informed  that  no 
more  witnesses  were  forthcoming.  "You  have  col- 
lected nothing  likely  to  solve  the  mystery." 

"I  cannot  manufacture  evidence,  sir,"  said  Inglis 
stiffly. 

The  Coroner  grunted  and  made  an  acid  speech  in 
which  he  pointed  out  that  the  evidence  laid  before 
him  and  the  jury  amounted  to  absolutely  nothing. 
Only  one  verdict  could  be  brought  in — "Wilful  mur- 
der against  some  person  or  persons  unknown."  This 
was  accordingly  done,  and  the  assembly  dispersed. 
Only  the  Coroner  remained  to  state  sourly  to  Inglis 
that  he  considered  the  police  in  general  to  be  fools,  and 
the  Pierside  inspector  to  be  the  king  of  them. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CYRIL   AND    BELLA 

Captain  Huxham's  death  having  been  legally  rele- 
gated to  the  list  of  undiscovered  crimes,  his  gnarled 
old  body  was  committed  to  a  damp  grave  in  Marshely 
cemetery.  There  was  a  vast  concourse  of  people  from 
far  and  near  to  assist  at  the  funeral  of  one  who  had 
been  so  mysteriously  murdered.  So  greatly  had  the 
strangeness  of  the  deed  appealed  to  the  imagination  of 
metropolitan  readers,  that  many  London  reporters 
came  down  to  see  the  last  of  the  case,  and  if  possible  to 
begin  it  again  by  making  enquiries.  But  ask  as  they 
might,  they  could  learn  nothing.  They  were  therefore 
compelled  to  content  themselves  with  picturesque  de- 
scriptions of  the  ancient  Manor-house  amidst  its 
corn-fields,  and  with  inaccurately  lurid  accounts  of  the 
late  owner's  career  as  a  sailor. 

Mrs.  Coppersley  went  to  the  funeral  as  chief 
mourner,  as  Bella  resolutely  declined  to  do  so.  She 
was  sorry  for  her  tyrannical  father's  violent  death,  but 
being  very  human,  found  it  difficult  to  forgive  him 
for  the  way  in  which  he  had  behaved.  He  had  bull- 
ied her  and  shut  her  in  her  room,  and  finally  had  drug- 
ged her  by  stealth.  But  as  it  turned  out  it  was  just 
as  well  that  he  had  done  so,  as  thereby  she  was  able  to 
prove  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  crime,  even  though 
she  was  alone  in  the  house.  Then  again,  there  was 
the  other  side  of  the  question  to  take — that  if  Huxham 
had  not  administered  the  laudanum  he  might  have  been 
alive  and  well  at  the  moment.  It  seemed  to  Bella,  over- 
strung with  nerves,  that  some  higher  powers  had  dealt 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  85 

out  a  punishment  to  the  Captain  for  crimes  committed 
but  undiscovered.  Certainly  she  agreed  with  Tunks 
that  her  father  had  some  dark  secret  in  his  mind, 
which  led  him  to  isolate  himself  in  the  midst  of  the 
corn. 

However,  he  was  dead  and  buried,  so  all  debts  were 
paid,  and  Bella  sitting  in  the  vast  drawing-room  of 
the  Manor-house  with  a  church-service  open  on  her 
lap,  tried  hard  to  forget  Huxham's  bad  traits  of  char- 
acter, and  to  remember  his  good  ones.  This  was 
somewhat  difficult,  as  the  captain  had  few  engaging 
qualities.  But  Bella  recalled  that  he  had  been  kind  in 
a  gruff  sort  of  way  and  had  never  grudged  her  the 
best  of  food  and  the  gaudiest  of  frocks.  Huxham  had 
been  one  of  those  so-called  good  people,  who  are 
amiable  so  long  as  everything  is  done  according  to 
their  liking ;  but  who  display  the  tyrant  when  crossed. 
But  on  the  whole  he  might  have  been  worse,  and 
after  all,  as  she  anxiously  kept  in  mind,  he  was  her 
father. 

The  room  wherein  she  sat,  with  the  blinds  down, 
was  opposite  the  study  and  was  a  large  apartment 
sparsely  furnished.  Huxham  did  not  care  for  a 
drawing-room,  as  he  preferred  his  den,  but  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley  had  bothered  him  incessantly  until  he  provided 
her  with  furniture  for  the  place.  She  selected  the 
furniture  herself,  and  what  with  her  brother's  stingi- 
ness and  her  own  bad  taste,  the  result  was  woefully 
bad.  The  room,  spacious,  lofty  and  stately,  was  deco- 
rated as  beautifully  as  was  the  study,  and  required  the 
most  exquisite  furniture  to  enhance  its  faded  splen- 
dours. But  Mrs.  Coppersley  had  bought  a  magenta- 
hued  sofa  and  many  magenta-covered  chairs,  together 
with  a  cheap  sideboard,  so  sticky  as  to  look  like  a  fly 
catcher,  and  two  arm  chairs  of  emerald  green.  The 
inlaid  floor  she  had  covered  with  lineoleum,  diapered 
white  and  black,  and  her  artistic  taste  had  led  her  to 


86  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

paint  the  mellow  oak  panelling  with  pink  Aspinall's 
enamel.  As  the  curtains  of  the  many  windows  were 
yellow,  and  the  blinds  blue,  the  effect  was  disastrous, 
and  suggestive  of  a  paint-box.  An  artist  would  have 
died  of  the  confusion  of  tints,  and  the  barbarism  of 
destroying  the  oak  panels,  but  Mrs.  Coppersley  was 
more  than  satisfied  with  the  result,  and  when  seated 
in  the  drawing-room  on  Sunday  felt  herself  to  be 
quite  the  lady. 

At  the  present  moment  Bella's  nerves  were  less 
troubled  than  usual;  the  blinds  were  down  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  funeral,  and  a  dim  twilight  pervaded 
the  room,  hiding  more  or  less  the  atrocious  grandeur. 
She  sat  in  one  of  the  green  armchairs  near  the  fire- 
place, reading  the  burial  service  and  listening  to  the 
solemn  tolling  of  the  bell.  But  after  a  time  she  drop- 
ped the  book  on  her  lap  and  leaned  back  to  close  her 
eyes  and  reflect  on  her  grave  position.  If  only  she  had 
not  seen  Cyril  on  that  night  she  could  have  married  in 
ignorance  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  the  death 
of  her  father ;  but,  enlightened  as  she  was,  it  appeared 
impossible  that  she  should  become  his  wife.  She  had 
said  nothing  of  his  visit  at  the  inquest,  but  the  hideous 
doubt  remained  in  her  mind,  although  she  strove  to 
banish  it  by  assuring  herself  over  and  over  again  that 
Lister  could  have  had  no  hand  in  the  matter.  But 
how  could  she  prove  his  innocence  ? 

She  was  alone  in  that  sinister  house,  and  although 
it  was  bright  sunshine  out  of  doors  she  felt  scared. 
The  cool  dim  room,  the  dreary  booming  of  the  distant 
bell,  the  impressive  words  of  the  burial  service  which 
she  had  just  been  reading — all  these  things  united  in 
a  weird  appeal  to  her  psychic  instincts,  to  those  mys- 
terious senses  which  deal  with  the  unseen.  In  the 
arm-chair  she  sat  with  closed  eyes  strung  up  to  break- 
ing-point, and  felt  that  if  the  psychic  influence  which 
seemed  to  control  her  became  more  insistent,  she  would 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  87 

scream.  A  thought  flashed  across  her  mind  that  her 
father  was  walking  that  dim,  chill  apartment,  trying 
to  communicate  the  truth;  and  in  her  nervous  excite- 
ment she  could  almost  have  sworn  that  she  heard  the 
heavy  tread  of  his  feet. 

Thus,  when  she  really  did  hear  a  light  footstep  in 
the  entrance  hall  without,  she  uttered  a  piercing 
scream,  and  staggered  to  her  feet.  The  hall  door,  she 
knew,  had  been  left  open  since  the  coffin  had  been 
carried  down  the  path  between  the  standing  corn,  so 
that  anyone  could  enter.  Perhaps  the  assassin  had 
come  back  to  review  the  scene  of  his  crime,  or  to  com- 
mit another. 

White-faced  and  panic-stricken  by  the  power  of  her 
own  emotions  engendered  by  the  circumstances,  she 
clung  to  the  back  of  the  arm-chair,  straining  her  eyes 
towards  the  door.  At  the  sound  of  her  thin  high- 
pitched  scream  the  footsteps  had  ceased  for  a  moment, 
as  though  the  intruder  was  listening.  Now  they  re- 
commenced and  drew  near  the  outside  of  the  door. 
Unable  to  utter  a  sound  Bella  stared  through  the  dim 
lights  and  saw  the  door  open  cautiously.  A  face 
looked  in  and  the  eyes  set  in  the  face  blinked  in  the 
semi-gloom.  Then  the  door  opened  widely  and  Cyril 
Lister  stepped  in. 

"Oh,  my  darling!"  With  a  sudden  rush  of  relief 
Bella  ran  rapidly  towards  the  door  to  throw  herself 
into  her  lover's  arms.  Then  a  gruesome  memory  of 
that  sinister  visit  made  her  falter  and  pause  half  way. 
Cyril  closed  the  door  and  stood  where  he  was,  holding 
out  his  hungry  arms. 

"Dearest,"  he  said  softly.     "Oh,  my  poor  girl." 

But  Bella  did  not  move;  she  stood  looking  at  him 
as  though  fascinated.  He  wore  a  white  drill  suit  made, 
tropic-fashion,  high  at  the  neck,  with  white  shoes,  and 
a  panama  hat.  His  white-clothed  figure  accentuated  the 
twilight  of  the  room,  which  now  looked  brown  and 


88  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

grim.  Considering  that  her  father  was  dead  and  even 
now  was  being  laid  in  an  untimely  grave,  Cyril  might 
have  come  to  her  dressed  in  mourning,  unless — ah, 
unless.  "Oh!" — she  stretched  out  an  arm  as  he  ad- 
vanced slowly — "don't  come  near  me — don't  come 
near  me." 

"Bella!"  He  stopped  in  sheer  surprise.  "Bella, 
darling,  don't  you  know  me?" 

"Ah,  yes,  I  know  you,"  she  gasped,  retreating  to- 
wards the  chair.     "Perhaps  I  know  you  too  well." 

"Because  I  have  not  been  to  see  you  before?"  he 
asked,  surprised.  "Bella,  dearest,  I  would  have  come 
but  that  I  have  been  abroad  during  the  week.  I  had 
to  go  to  Paris  to  see  a — a  friend  of  mine." 

She  noted  the  hesitation  and  shivered.  "When  did 
you  go?" 

Cyril  came  near,  and  again  she  shrank  away.  "On 
the  afternoon  when  your  father  found  us  in  the  corn- 
field." 

"It's  not  true;  it's  not  true.  How  can  you  lie  to 
me?" 

"Bella!"  Cyril  stopped  short  again,  and  in  the 
faint  light  she  could  see  that  he  looked  thoroughly 
puzzled  and  amazed.    "What  do  you  mean?" 

The  girl's  legs  refused  to  support  her  any  longer, 
and  she  sank  into  the  chair.  "My  father  is  being 
buried,"  she  gasped. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  he  replied  sympathetically.  "I 
went  to  the  funeral,  but  finding  you  were  not  present, 
I  came  here  to  comfort  you." 

"You — you — you  went  to  the  funeral?"  her  eyes 
dilated. 

"Why  should  I  not  go.  After  all,  even  though  we 
quarrelled,  he  was  your  father,  and  a  last  tribute  of 
respect " 

"Oh,  stop.  stop.  You  can  say  this  to  me — to  me, 
of  all  people  ?" 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  89 

Lister  frowned  and  pinched  his  lip.  "This  lonely- 
house  and  this  cold,  dull  room  have  unnerved  you," 
he  said  after  a  pause.  "I  make  every  allowance  for 
what  you  have  gone  through,  but " 

"But  you  know,  you  understand." 

"Know  what?  understand  what?"  he  inquired 
sharply. 

"I  said  nothing  at  the  inquest.  I  held  my  tongue. 
I  never " 

"Bella!"  Cyril,  now  thoroughly  roused,  advanced 
and  seized  her  wrists  in  no  gentle  grasp,  "are  you 
crazy,  talking  in  this  way?" 

"I  have  had  enough  to  make  me  crazy,"  she  said 
bitterly,  "let  me  go." 

"Not  till  you  explain  your  mysterious  behaviour. 
•No" — he  grasped  her  wrists  tighter  as  she  strove  to 
release  herself — "not  till  you  explain." 

"Ah!"  she  cried  out  shrilly,  "will  you  murder  me 
also?" 

Lister  suddenly  released  her  wrists  and  fell  back 
a  pace.  "Murder  you  also?"  he  repeated.  "Am  I 
then  in  the  habit  of  murdering  people?" 

"My  father.    You — you " 

"Well,  go  on,"  said  he,  as  the  word  stuck  in  her 
throat. 

"Oh" — she  wrung  her  hands  helplessly — "I  saw 
you;  I  saw  you." 

"Saw  me  what?"  His  voice  became  impatient 
and  almost  fierce." 

"I  saw  you  enter  the  house — this  house." 

"Saw  me — enter  this  house?    When?" 

"On  the  night  my  father  was  murdered — at  eight 
o'clock." 

"What  the  devil  are  you  talking  about?"  cried 
Cyril  roughly.  "I  was  in  London  at  eight  o'clock 
on  that  night,  and  went  to  Paris  the  next  morning. 
I  never  heard  of  the  murder,  as  I  saw  no  newspapers. 


90  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

When  I  returned  last  night  I  read  the  account  of  the 
inquest  in  the  evening  papers,  and  I  came  down  this 
morning  to  comfort  you.  I  really  think  trouble  has 
turned  your  head,  Bella." 

The  girl  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  Even 
though  she  had  spoken  so  very  plainly,  Cyril  did 
not  seem  to  comprehend  that  she  was  accusing  him 
of  having  committed  a  dastardly  crime.  Her  heart 
suddenly  grew  light.  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was  mis- 
taken, and — and — "You  can  prove  your  innocence?" 

"My  innocence  of  what,  in  heaven's  name?"  he 
cried  angrily. 

"Of — of — the — the — murder,"  she  faltered. 

Lister  stared,  and  scarcely  could  believe  his  ears. 
"You  are  not  serious?" 

"Oh,  my  dear:"  she  sobbed,  "I  wish  I  were  not." 

"And  you  accuse  me  of  murdering  your  father?" 

"No,  no!  Really,  I  don't  accuse  you  of  actually 
— that  is,  of  really — but  I  saw  you  enter  this  house 
at  eight  o'clock,  or  a  little  after,  on  that  night. 
I  intended  to  come  down,  thinking  you  and  my 
father  might  quarrel,  but  I  drank  the  tea — you 
must  have  seen  about  the  tea  at  the  inquest — that  is, 
in  the  report  given  in  the  papers.  Then  I  fell 
asleep,  and  woke  to  hear  that  my  father  was  dead. 
But  I  never  betrayed  you,  Cyril.  God  is  my 
witness  that  I  have  held  my  tongue." 

Lister  passed  his  hand  across  his  forhead,  and  fell 
helplessly  into  a  near  chair.  "You  accuse  me  of  mur- 
dering your  father?"  he  said  again. 

"No,  no;"  she  repeated  feverishly,  "but  I  saw  you 
— you  looked  up — you  wore  the  grey  clothes,  as  you 
had  done  in  the  afternoon  when  father  interrupted 
us." 

"Bella!  Bella!  You  must  have  been  dreaming,  or 
the  drug " 

"I  was  not  dreaming,"  she  interrupted  vehemently, 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  91 

"and  I  saw  you  before  I  drank  the  drugged  tea.  I 
called  to  you,  and  you  looked  up;  but  you  entered  the 
house  without  making  any  sign  of  recognition.  Then 
I  fell  asleep,  and — and — oh, — my  dear" — she  flung 
herself  down  at  his  feet  and  seized  his  hand.  "What 
took  place  between  my  father  and  you?  I'm  sure 
you  did  not  kill  him.  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  and, 
remember,  I  held  my  tongue.    Yes,  I  held " 

"Oh,"  groaned  the  young  man,  looking  down  into 
her  agitated  face.  "I  am  losing  my  reason.  You  will 
shortly  persuade  me  that  I  killed " 

"But  you  did  not — you  did  not.  Ah,  never  say  that 
you  did." 

"No,"  said  Lister  shortly,  and  rose  so  suddenly 
as  to  let  her  fall,  "and  if  you  believe  me  to  be  a  mur- 
derer, we  had  better  part." 

"I  don't!  I  don't!",  she  wailed,  stretching  out  her 
hands,  as  he  strode  towards  the  door.  "Oh,  Cyril, 
don't  leave  me.    You  are  all  I  have." 

Lister  was  in  a  white  heat  with  rage,  and  stood 
fumbling  at  the  door.  But  a  backward  glance  at  her 
pale  face  cooled  him  somewhat.  He  recognised  that 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  some  mystery,  and  that  it 
was  necessary  for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  as  for 
Bella's,  to  probe  the  mystery  to  the  bottom.  On  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  he  walked  back,  and  lifting 
her,  placed  her  again  in  the  arm-chair.  Then  he  knelt 
beside  her,  and  took  her  hands.  "Darling,"  he  said, 
softly  and  firmly,  "I  swear  to  you,  what  I  would  not 
swear  to  any  living  creature,  that  I  am  innocent.  If 
anyone  but  you  had  acused  me,  I  should  have " 

"Cyril!  Cyril!"  She  wreathed  her  arms  round  his 
neck,  "I  only  fancied,  but  I  really  did  not  think 
that " 

He  removed  her  arms.  "You  should  believe  in 
my  innocence  in  the  face  of  all  evidence,"  he  said 
sternly. 


/ 

92  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

"But  my  own  eyes,"  she  faltered. 

He  frowned.  "That  certainly  is  puzzling;  still, 
the  drug " 

"I  saw  you  enter  the  house  before  I  drunk  the 
tea,"  she  protested.    "I  told  you  that  before." 

"Your  senses  were  quite  clear?" 

"Perfectly  clear.  And  I  thought  that  you  had  come 
to  try  and  induce  my  father  to  consent  to  our 
marriage." 

"Strange,"  muttered  the  young  man.  "I  was  not 
near  the  house." 

"Are  you  sure?  are  you  sure?" 

"Oh!"  Lister's  tone  was  highly  exasperated.  "You 
will  drive  me  mad,  talking  in  this  way.  Hearken," 
he  added,  speaking  calmer,  "when  I  left  you  and 
Captain  Huxham  in  the  corn-field,  I  went  straight 
back  to  my  lodgings.  There  I  found  a  letter  referring 
to  the  thousand  pounds  I  wished  to  borrow.  I  had  to 
see  the  friend  who  was  willing  to  lend  it  to  me  on  that 
night.  I  therefore  went  to  London  by  the  six  o'clock 
train.  My  landlady  can  prove  that  I  left  the  house; 
the  flyman  can  prove  that  I  drove  to  the  local  station ; 
the  ticket  office  there  that  I  bought  a  ticket,  and  the 
guard  of  the  train  shut  me  himself  in  a  first-class 
compartment.     That  is  evidence  enough,  I  fancy." 

"Yes.    Yes,  for  me,  but " 

"But  I  might  have  sneaked  back,  I  suppose  you 
mean?"  he  said  bitterly,  and  rising  to  walk  the  floor. 
"I  can  prove  an  alibi  easily.  At  eight  o'clock  I  was 
at  my  friend's  rooms  in  Duke  Street,  St.  James's,  as 
his  man  can  swear.  He  had  gone  to  Paris,  and  I  ar- 
ranged to  follow.  I  went  to  the  theatre,  and  to  dinner 
with  two  friends  of  mine,  and  did  not  leave  them 
until  one  in  the  morning,  when  I  returned  to  my  hotel. 
The  murder  took  place  at  eleven,  or  between  eight  and 
eleven,  so  I  can  easily  prove  that  I  was  not  here. 
Next  morning  I  went  to  Paris,  and  got  the  money 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  93 

from  my  friend.  I  lingered  there  with  him,  and  only- 
returned  yesterday,  to  learn  that  your  father  was 
dead.  Then  I  came  down  here  this  morning  to — 
meet  with  this  reception." 

"Cyril !    Cryil !    Don't  be  hard  on  me." 

"Are  you  not  hard  yourself?"  he  retorted.  "How 
can  I  love  a  woman  who  doubts  me.  Besides,  rob- 
bery was  the  motive  for  the  commission  of  the 
crime.  Am  I  likely  to  stab  an  old  man,  and  then  rob 
him?" 

"No,  I  never  believed,  and  yet " 

"And  yet  what?"  he  asked  curtly. 

"You — you — wanted  a  thousand  pounds." 

"Oh" — his  lip  curled — "and  you  believed  that  I 
robbed  your  father's  safe  to  get  it.  Unfortunately, 
I  understood,  from  your  aunt's  evidence  at  the  in- 
quest, that  only  one  hundred  pounds  in  gold  were  in 
the  safe,  so  I  must  have  committed  a  brutal  murder 
needlessly." 

"I  never  said  that  you  murdered  my  father,"  cried 
Bella  despairingly. 

"You  inferred  as  much,"  he  retorted  cuttingly; 
"also  that  I  robbed " 

"No,  no,  no !"  she  cried  vehemently,  now  thorough- 
ly believing  him  to  be  completely  innocent,  and  trying 
woman-like  to  recover  her  position.  "But,  Cyril, 
listen  to  me,  and  you  will  see  that  as  things  look  I  was 
justified " 

"Nothing  can  justify  your  believing  me  to  be  guilty 
of  a  double  crime." 

Bella  bowed  her  proud  head.  "I  can  see  that  now," 
she  said  humbly. 

"You  should  have  seen  it  before,"  he  replied 
harshly. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  looked  at  him  indig- 
nantly, bringing  into  play  the  powerful  weapon  of 
sex.      "You   give   me   no   opportunity   of   defending 


94 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM 


myself,"  she  said,  in  the  offended  tone  of  a  woman 
wronged. 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  and  give  you  the  opportunity 
now,"  he  replied  coldly. 

"I  saw  you  enter  the  house,"  she  repeated  some- 
what weakly. 

"That  is  impossible,"  he  rejoined  briefly. 

"Oh!"  She  clasped  her  hands  together.  "What  is 
the  use  of  saying  that?  It  was  not  you,  since  I  firmly 
believe  what  you  tell  me;  all  the  same " 

Cyril  sprang  forward,  seized  her  hands,  and  looked 
deep  into  her  eyes    "You  believe  me,  then?" 

"Yes,  I  do.  But  if  the  man  was  not  you,  he  must 
have  been  your  double." 

"Was  he  so  like  me,  then?" 

"Exactly  like  you.  Don't  I  tell  you,  Cyril,  that  I 
leaned  out  of  the  window  and  spoke  to  the  man.  I 
called  him  by  your  name." 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"He  looked  up,  but  making  no  sign  of  recognition 
stepped  into  the  house,  as  the  door  was  not  locked. 
I  never  believed  for  one  moment  that  it  was  not  you, 
and  resolved  to  clamber  out  of  the  window  to  be 
present  at  the  interview.     Then  I  drank  the  drugged 

tea,  and "  she  made  a  gesture  of  despair — "you 

know  the  rest." 

"How  was  the  man  dressed?" 

"In  a  grey  suit,  just  as  you  wore  in  the  afternoon." 

"You  saw  the  face?" 

"I  saw  it  very  plainly,  although  the  twilight  was 
growing  darker  at  the  time.  But  I  could  have  sworn 
it  was  your  face.  Would  I  have  spoken  to  the  man 
had  I  not  believed  him  to  be  you?" 

"No,  and  yet" — Cyril  stopped,  and  tugged  at  his 
moustache.  His  face  had  grown  pale,  and  he  looked 
decidedly  worried.     "The  man  was  of  my  height?" 

"He  was  like  you  in  every  respect.     Perhaps  if  I 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  95 

had  seen  him  in  broad  daylight  I  might  have  recog- 
nised my  mistake  unless — oh,  Cyril,  could  it  have 
been  your  ghost?"  s 

"No,"  said  Lister,  in  a  strangled  voice,  "don't  be 

absurd.     I  have  an  idea  that "  he  made  for  the 

door.     There's  nothing  more  to  say." 

"Cyril,  will  you  leave  me?     Won't  you  kiss " 

"There's  nothing  more  to  say,"  said  Lister,  now- 
deadly  pale,  and  walked  abruptly  out  of  the  dim 
room.  Bella  fell  back  in  the  chair  and  wept.  All 
was  over. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    WITCH-WIFE 

The  interview  between  the  engaged  lovers  had  been 
a  strange  one,  and  not  the  least  strange  part  was  the 
termination.  Apparently,  after  hearing  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  mysterious  double  given  by  Bella,  her 
lover  could  have  explained  much — at  least,  she  gath- 
ered this  from  the  hints  his  broken  conversation  gave. 
After  his  departure,  she  sat  weeping,  until  it  struck 
her  sensible  nature  how  very  foolish  she  was  to  waste 
time  in  idle  regrets.  Whether  Cyril  felt  so  mortally 
offended  by  her  doubts  as  to  regard  the  engagement 
at  an  end,  she  could  not  say.  But  after  some  thought 
she  believed  that  her  remarks  had  given  him  a  clue 
which  he  had  left  thus  abruptly  to  follow  up.  Sooner 
or  later  he  would  return  to  explain,  and  then  all  would 
be  well  between  them. 

And  in  spite  of  his  odd  behaviour,  she  had  one 
great  consolation  in  knowing  that  he  was  innocent. 
His  denial  of  guilt  had  been  so  strong;  the  alibi  he 
set  forth  was  so  easy  of  proof,  and  so  impossible  of 
invention,  that  she  blamed  herself  sincerely  for  ever 
having  doubted  the  young  man.  Nevertheless,  con- 
sidering the  weird  circumstances,  and  the  fact  of  the 
likeness  of  the  double— whomsoever  he  might  be— to 
her  lover,  she  could  scarcely  regard  herself  as  having 
been  foolish.  Nine  people  out  of  ten  would  have  made 
the  same  mistake,  and  would  have  harboured  similar 
doubts.  Certainly,  seeing  that  she  loved  Cyril 
devotedly,  she  should  have  been  the  tenth ;  but  in  the 
hour  of  trial  her  faith  had  proved  very  weak.     She 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  97 

tried  to  remind  herself  that  she  had  never  really 
believed  him  to  be  guilty.  All  the  same,  recalling  the 
late  conversation,  she  had  to  recognise  that  her  words 
could  have  left  very  little  doubt  in  Lister's  mind  as  to 
the  fact  that  she  believed  him  to  be  a  robber  and  an 
assassin.  Well,  if  she  had,  surely  she  had  been 
severely  punished,  as  was  only  fair. 

Mrs.  Coppersley  returned  from  the  funeral  in  a 
very  chastened  frame  of  mind,  and  in  the  company 
of  Henry  Vand,  whom  she  had  bidden  to  tea.  The 
table  was  furnished  forth  with  funeral  baked  meats, 
after  the  fashion  of  Hamlet's  mother's  wedding,  and 
Mr.  Vand  did  full  justice  to  them — wonderful  justice, 
considering  his  apparently  delicate  constitution.  He 
was  not  very  tall,  and  remarkably  handsome,  with  his 
young,  clean-shaven  face,  his  large,  blue  eyes,  and  his 
curly,  golden  hair.  His  body  was  well-shaped  all  save 
the  right  foot,  which  was  twisted  and  the  leg  of  which 
was  shorter  than  the  other.  Like  Talleyrand  and 
Lord  Byron,  the  young  man  was  club-footed,  but 
otherwise  had  a  very  attractive  personality.  From  his 
delicate  fingers,  it  could  be  seen  that  he  was  a  musi- 
cian, and  he  had  an  air  of  refinement  astonishing  in 
one  of  his  breeding  and  birth.  Bella  did  not  like  him 
much.  Not  that  she  had  any  fault  to  find  with  him ; 
but  his  eyes  were  shallow,  like  those  of  a  bird,  and 
his  conversation  was  dull,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  The 
sole  way  in  which  he  could  converse  was  through  his 
violin,  and  as  he  had  not  that  with  him  on  this  occa- 
sion, Bella  preferred  to  remain  absent  from  the  lavish 
tea-table.  Mrs.  Coppersley  did  not  object,  as  she 
wanted  her  darling  all  to  herself. 

However,  Mrs.  Coppersley  was  very  severe  on  her 
niece  for  not  attending  the  funeral,  and  had  many 
sweet  things  to  say  regarding  virtues  of  the  deceased 
which  she  had  just  discovered  after  his  death.  "He 
meant  well,  did  poor,  dear  Jabez,"  sighed  Mrs.  Cop- 


98  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

persley,  over  a  cup  of  tea ;  "and  if  he  did  swear  it  was 
his  calling  that  made  him  profane.  Bella!" — her  niece 
was  standing  at  the  door  as  she  spoke — "to-morrow 
I'm  going  up  to  see  the  lawyer  about  the  property." 

"Oh,  don't  trouble  about  that,"  said  Bella  wearily; 
"no,  thank  you,  Mr.  Vand,  I  don't  care  to  eat.  I  feel 
too  miserable." 

"Not  trouble  about  the  property!"  cried  Mrs. 
Coppersley,  paying  no  attention  to  the  latter  part  of 
this  speech;  but  I  do  care.  Things  must  be  settled 
somehow.  I  must  arrange  my  future  life,"  and  she 
cast  a  tender  glance  on  the  handsome  musician. 
"Your  future  must  be  settled  also." 

"I  shall  look  after  that,"  said  Bella,  not  liking  her 
aunt's  tone. 

:'You  had  better  be  sharp,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley, in  a  dictatorial  manner,  "for  the  sooner 
things  are  settled  the  better.  I'm  not  young,  and" 
■ — she  cast  a  second  tender  glance  on  her  swain,  who 
was  eating  largely — "ah,  well,  its  useless  to  talk  of 
weddings  when  funerals  are  in  the  air.  To-morrow 
evening,  Bella,  after  I  have  seen  the  lawyer — and  he 
lives  in  Cade  Lane,  London — I'll  tell  you  what  I  have 
arranged." 

Bella  looked  in  astonishment  at  her  aunt,  who 
suddenly  seemed  to  have  acquired  the  late  captain's 
tyrannical  manner.  Apparently  Mrs.  Coppersley 
forgot — as  Bella  thought — that  she  would  not  inherit 
the  solitary  farm,  and  needed  to  be  reminded  of  the 
fact  that  her  niece  was  the  mistress  of  Bleacres.  In 
fact,  Bella  was  on  the  point  of  saying  as  much,  when 
she  remembered  that  Vand  was  present.  Not  being 
anxious  to  discuss  family  matters  in  his  presence — 
even  though  he  was  about  to  enter  the  family  as  Mrs. 
Coppersley's  husband — she  abruptly  left  the  room. 
Mrs.  Coppersley  poured  herself  out  a  second  cup  of 
tea,  and  remarked  in  a  high  tone  of  satisfaction,  that 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  99 

some  people's  noses  were  about  to  be  brought  to  the 
grindstone. 

Bella  heard  the  remark  as  she  put  on  her  hat  and 
walked  out  of  the  front  door.  It  accentuated  her 
lonely  feeling,  for  she  saw  plainly  now  what  she  had 
long  guessed, — that  Aunt  Rosamund  had  very  little 
affection  for  her.  The  late  captain  also  had  never 
cared  much  for  his  daughter,  and  now  that  Cyril  had 
vanished  in  an  enigmatic  manner,  the  poor  girl  felt 
more  wretched  than  ever.  Listlessly  she  walked  down 
the  narrow  path  as  far  as  the  boundary  channel,  and 
wondered  how  it  would  all  end.  Had  she  been  a 
religious  girl  she  might  have  sought  comfort  in  prayer, 
but  she  knew  very  little  about  true  religion,  and  did 
not  care  for  the  sort  preached  by  Mr.  Silas  Pence 
in  the  Little  Bethel  at  Marshely.  As  his  name  flashed 
into  her  mind,  she  looked  up  and  saw  him  standing  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  channel,  so  it  was  apparent — 
although  she  knew  nothing  about  such  things —  that 
some  telepathic  communication  had  made  her  think 
of  him.  The  preacher  was  in  his  usual  dismal  garb, 
and  had  accentuated  the  same  by  wearing  black  gloves 
and  a  black  tie  in  place  of  his  usual  white  one. 
Patience  on  a  monument  might  have  been  taken  as 
a  type  of  Mr.  Pence  on  this  occasion,  but  he  was  not 
smiling  on  grief  in  the  person  of  Miss  Huxham.  In 
fact  he  did  not  smile  at  all,  being  shocked  to  see  her 
out  of  doors. 

"Why  are  you  not  weeping  in  your  chamber?" 
reproved  Silas,  in  his  most  clerical  manner;  "the  loss 
of  so  good  a  father " 

"You  have  doubtless  said  all  you  had  to  say  on 
that  subject  at  the  funeral,  Mr.  Pence,"  retorted  Bella, 
whose  nerves  were  worn  thin  with  worry;  "spare  me 
a  repetition  of  such  stale  remarks." 

It  was  a  horribly  rude  speech,  as  she  well  knew. 
But   Pence  had  a  way  of  irritating  her  beyond  all 


ioo  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

endurance,  and  the  mere  sight  of  him  was  sufficient 
to  set  her  teeth  on  edge  for  the  day.  It  was  intoler- 
able that  he  should  intrude  on  her  privacy  now,  when 
she  particularly  wished  to  be  alone.  She  intimated  as 
much  by  turning  away  with  a  displeased  air,  and 
walked  for  a  short  distance  along  the  bank  path  lead- 
ing to  Mrs.  Tunks'  hut.  But  Silas,  absolutely  ignor- 
ant of  the  feminine  nature,  and  entirely  devoid  of 
diplomacy,  persisted  in  thrusting  his  company  upon 
her.  Bella  turned  sharply,  when  she  heard  Silas 
breathing  heard  behind  her,  and  spoke  with  marked 
indignation. 

"I  wish  to  be  alone,  if  you  please,"  she  declared, 
flushing. 

"Ah,  no;  ah,  no,"  remonstrated  Pence,  stupidly. 
"Allow  me  to  comfort  you." 

"You  cannot,"  she  retorted,  marvelling  at  his 
density. 

"Allow  me  to  try.  I  was  on  the  point  of  calling 
at  the  house  to " 

Bella  interrupted  him  cruelly.  "You  can  call  there 
still,  Mr.  Pence,  and  my  aunt  will  be  glad  to  see  you. 
She  has  Mr.  \§and  to  tea,  so  you  will  find  yourself  in 
congenial  company." 

"Your  company  is  congenial  enough  for  me." 

"That  is  very  flattering,  but  I  prefer  to  be  alone." 

Silas,  however,  declined  to  be  shaken  off,  and  his 
reproachful  looks  so  exasperated  Bella  that  she  felt 
inclined  to  thrust  him  into  the  water.  And  his  speech 
was  even  more  irritating  than  his  manner.  "Let  me 
soothe  you ,  my  dear,  broken-hearted  sister,"  he 
pleaded  in  a  sheep-like  bleat. 

"I  don't  want  soothing.  I  am  not  broken-hearted, 
and  I  am  not  your  sister." 

Pence  sighed.    "This  is  very,  very  painful." 

"It  is,"  Bella  admitted  readily,  "to  me.  Surely  you 
are  man  enough,  Mr.   Pence,  to  take  a  plain  telling 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  101 

if  you  won't  accept  a  hint.  I  want  you  to  leave  me 
at  once,  as  I  am  not  disposed  to  talk." 

"If  I  had  my  way  I  would  never,  never  leave  you 
again." 

"Perhaps;  but,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  will 
not  get  your  way." 

"Why  do  you  dislike  me,  Miss  Huxham?" 

"I  neither  like  nor  dislike  you,"  she  retorted,  sup- 
pressing a  violent  inclination  to  scream,  so  annoying 
was  this  persecution.     "You  are  nothing  to  me." 

"I  want  to  be  something.  I  wish  you  to  be  my 
sealed  fountain.  Your  late  lamented  father  desired 
you  to  be  my  spouse." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,  Mr.  Pence.  But  perhaps  you 
will  remember  that  I  refused  to  marry  you,  the  other 
day." 

"You  broke  my  heart  then." 

"Go  and  mend  it  then,"  cried  Bella,  furiously  angry, 
and  only  too  anxious  to  drive  him  away  by  behaving 
with  aggressive  rudeness. 

"You  alone  can  mend  it."  Pence  dropped  on  his 
knees.  "Oh,  I  implore  you  to  mend  it,  my  Hephzi- 
bah !  You  are  to  me  a  Rose  of  Sharon,  a  Lily  of  the 
Vale." 

"Get  up,  sir,  and  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"Oh,  angel  of  my  life,  listen  to  me.  Lately  I  was 
poor  in  this  world's  goods,  but  now  I  have  gold. 
Marry  me,  and  let  us  fly  to  far  lands,  and " 

"I  thought  you  were  desperately  poor,"  said  Bella, 
suspicously;  "where  did  you  get  the  money?" 

"An  aged  and  God-fearing  Christian  aunt  left  it  to 
me,"  said  Pence,  dropping  his  eyes.  "It  is  a  small 
sum,  but " 

"One  hundred  pounds  in  gold,  perhaps?" 

Pence  rose,  as  though  moved  by  springs,  and  his 
thin  white  cheeks  flushed  a  deep  scarlet.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 


ii02  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

Bella  could  not  have  told  herself  what  she  meant 
at  the  moment.  But  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  her 
to  try  and  rid  herself  of  this  burr  by  hinting  that 
he  had  something  to  do  with  the  robbery,  if  not  with 
the  murder.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  she  would 
never  have  ventured  to  do  this,  being  a  kind-hearted 
girl ;  but  Pence  exasperated  her  so  greatly  that  she 
was,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  prepared  to  go 
to  any  length  to  see  the  last  of  him.  "I  mean,"  she 
said,  in  reply  to  his  last  question,  "that  my  father 
had  one  hundred  pounds  in  gold  in  his  safe." 

"You  accuse  me  of " 

"I  accuse  you  of  nothing,"  cried  Bella,  cutting  him 
short  and  flaming  up  into  a  royal  rage.  "I  am  tired 
of  your  company  and  of  your  silly  talk.  I  only  wish 
that  Mr.  Lister  would  come  along  and  throw  you 
into  the  channel." 

The  red  faded  from  Pence's  face,  and  he  looked 
wickedly  white.  His  eyes  flashed  with  sinister  lights. 
"I  dare  say  you  do,"  he  said  venomously,  "but  Mr. 
Lister  had  better  keep  out  of  my  way,  and  out  of  the 
way  of  the  police." 

The  girl  felt  her  heart  almost  stop  beating.  "Now 
it  is  my  turn  to  ask  you  what  you  mean?"  she  said 
slowly  and  preserving  her  coolness. 

But  the  preacher  saw  that  she  was  shaken,  and 
followed  up  his  advantage.  "I  think  you  had  better 
make  terms  with  me.  Accept  me  as  your  husbamd, 
or " 

"Or  what?" 

"I  shall  tell  the  police  what  I  saw,"  he  finished  spite- 
fully. 

"What  did  you  see?"  she  asked  in  a  shaking 
voice. 

"On  the  evening  of  the  murder  I  came  here  at 
a  quarter  to  eight,"  said  Silas  slowly,  his  glittering 
eyes  on  her  pale  face.    "I  wished  to  adore  the  shrine 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  103 

wherein  was  my  jewel;  that  is,  I  desired  to  gaze  on 
the  house,  beneath  whose  roof  you  slept." 

"Oh,  stop  talking  like  this,  and  speak  plainly,"  she 
interrupted  wearily. 

"I  shall  speak  plainly  enough  now,"  said  the  young 
man  calmly.  "While  watching  by  the  entrance 
through  the  bushes,  on  the  other  side  of  the  channel,  I 
was  suddenly  brushed  aside  by  that  Lister  person. 
It  was  growing  dark,  but  I  recognised  his  figure,  his 
insolent  face,  his  lordly  air  of  prosperity.  He  walked 
up  to  the  house  and  I  turned  away,  sick  at  heart, 
knowing  that  he  had  gone  to  see  you.  When  I  looked 
again,  on  my  way  back  to  Marshely,  he  had  disap- 
peared.    So  you  see "   He  paused. 

"I  see  what?"  she  questioned  nervously. 
"That  the  Lister  person  must  know  somewhat  of 
this  crime,  if,  indeed,  he  did  not  strike  the  blow  him- 
self." 

"How  can  you  say  that,  when  you  lately  intimated 
that  Mr.  Lister — if  it  was  Mr.  Lister,  which  I  doubt 
— had  come  to  see  me?" 

"I  remember  the  evidence  given  by  yourself  and 
your  aunt  at  the  inquest,"  retorted  Pence  sharply. 
You  were  locked  in  your  room,  and  were  in  a  drugged 
sleep.  Mrs.  Coppersley  had  gone  to  my  lodgings  to 
deliver  the  note  from  your  late  father,  which  I  found 
on  my  return.  That  Lister  person  must  have  seen 
your  father,  and,  as  they  were  not  on  good 
terms — " 

"How  do  you  know  that  they  were  not  ?" 
"Because  your  late  father  hated  the  very  name  of 
Lister,  and  said  that  he  would  rather  see  you  dead 
than  married  to  him.  Also  in  the  note  left  at  my 
lodgings,  your  father  said  that  he  had  quarrelled  seri- 
ously with  this  Lister  person,  and  had  locked  you  in 
your  room.  Now,  if  I  showed  that  note  to  the  police, 
and  related  how  the  Lister  person  had  brushed  me 


104  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

aside  so  that  he  could  cross  the  channel,  he  would  be 
arrested." 

"No,  he  would  not,"  said  Bella  doggedly,  but  her 
heart  sank. 

"Yes,  he  would.  He  hated  your  late  father;  he 
was  alone  in  the  house  with  him,  and  I  believe  that 
he  killed  him  so  that  he  might  marry  you." 

"As  if  I  would  marry  any  man  who  murdered  my 
father,"  said  Bella  angrily.  "You  are  talking  a  lot 
of  nonsense,  Mr.  Pence.  Mr.  Lister  was  in  London 
on  that  evening,  and  afterwards  went  to  Paris." 

"I  don't  believe  it.    Who  told  you?" 

"He  told  me  so  himself." 

"Naturally  he  has  to  make  the  best  of  things.  But 
I  know  the  Lister  person  well  by  sight,  and  I  am 
prepared  to  take  my  oath  that  he  entered  the  Manor- 
house  about  eight  o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  murder." 

"Mr.  Lister  has  a  good  alibi/3  said  Bella,  with  a 
carelessness  which  she  was  far  from  feeling,  and 
gathering  up  her  si  Irts  to  go.  "You  can  tell  the 
police  what  you  like,  Mr.  Pence.  I  am  not  afraid  for 
Mr.  Lister's  good  name." 

"You  will  make  no  terms?"  demanded  Pence,  an- 
noyed by  her  feigned  coolness. 

"No,"  she  said  abruptly;  "do  what  you  like." 

"I'll  give  you  three  days  to  think  over  the  matter," 
cried  Pence  as  she  turned  away;  "if  by  that  time  you 
do  not  agree  to  become  my  wife,  I  shall  denounce  that 
Lister  person  to  the  police." 

Bella  took  no  notice  of  the  threat,  but  walked 
swiftly  away  in  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Tunks'  hut. 
Hearing  no  footsteps  she  concluded  that  Mr.  Pence 
had  not  followed,  and  a  cautious  look  round  revealed 
him  crossing  the  planks  on  his  way  home.  Bella  felt 
sick  with  apprehension,  and  when  she  reached  the  hut 
had  to  lean  against  the  door  for  support.  But  she 
had  no  time  to  consider  matters,  for  unexpectedly  the 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  105 

door  opened  and  she  fell  into  the  bony  arms  of  Mrs. 
Tunks. 

"I  knew  you  were  coming,  dearie,"  croaked  the  old 
creature;  "the  crystal  told  me." 

"A  glance  along  the  path  told  you,"  retorted  Bella, 
recovering  her  balance  and  entering  the  hut.  "Why 
do  you  talk  to  me  of  the  crystal,  Mrs.  Tunks?  You 
know  I  don't  believe  in  such  things." 

"Well  I  know  your  blind  eyes  and  stubborn  heart, 
lovey.  Only  trouble  will  make  you  see  truths,  and 
you  ain't  had  enough  yet.    There's  more  coming." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Bella,  sitting  down  on 
a  broken-backed  chair  with  a  sudden  sinking  of  the 
heart. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  mumbled  Mrs.  Tunks,  squatting 
on  a  stool  near  the  fire.  "Who  should  know  but  I, 
who  am  of  the  gentle  Romany?  Hold  your  peace, 
dearie  and  let  me  think,"  and  she  lighted  a  dingy  black 
clay  pipe.  "Luke  ain't  here,"  added  Mrs.  Tunks, 
blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke,  "so  we've  the  whole  place 
to  ourselves,  lovey,  and  the  crystal's  ready." 

She  nodded  towards  a  bright  spark  of  light,  and 
Bella  saw  a  round  crystal  the  size  of  an  apple,  stand- 
ing in  a  cheap  china  egg-cup.  There  was  no  light  in 
the  bare  room,  but  the  ruddy  flare  of  the  smouldering 
fire,  and  what  with  the  semi-darkness,  the  fumes  of 
Mrs.  Tunks'  pipe,  and  that  bright  unwinking  spot, 
Bella  felt  as  though  she  were  being  hypnotised. 

The  hut,  built  of  turf,  was  square,  and  was  divided 
by  a  wooden  partition  into  two  equal  parts.  One  of 
these  parts  was  again  sub-divided  into  two  sleeping 
dens — they  could  not  be  called  bedrooms — for  Mrs. 
Tunks  and  her  grandson.  The  day  apartment,  which 
did  for  sitting-room,  dining-room,  drawing-room,  and 
general  living-room,  was  small,  and  dirty,  and  dingy. 
The  ceiling  of  rough  thatch,  black  with  smoke,  could 
almost  be  touched  by  Bella  without  rising.    The  floor 


106  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

was  of  beaten  earth,  the  chimney  a  wide  gaping  hol- 
low of  turf,  and  there  was  one  small  window,  usually 
tightly  closed,  beside  the  crazy  door.  The  furniture 
consisted  of  a  deal  table,  of  home  manufacture,  with 
its  legs  sunken  in  the  earthen  floor,  and  a  few  stools 
together  with  the  broken-backed  chair  on  which  the 
visitor  sat.  There  also  was  a  rough  wooden  dresser,  on 
which  were  ranged  a  few  platters  of  wood  and  some 
china.  The  whole  abode  was  miserable  in  the  extreme, 
and  in  wet  weather  must  have  been  extremely  uncom- 
fortable. Granny  Tunks,  as  she  was  usually  called, 
housed  like  an  Early  Briton  or  a  Saxon  serf;  but  she 
seemed  to  be  happy  enough  in  her  den,  perhaps  be- 
cause it  was  better  than  the  rough  life  of  the  road, 
which  had  been  her  lot  in  life  before  she  had  married 
a  Gorgio. 

She  was  a  lean,  grim  old  creature  with  very  bright 
black  eyes  and  plentiful  white  hair  escaping  from 
under  a  red  handkerchief.  Her  dress  was  of  a  brown 
colour,  but  tagged  with  bright  patches  of  yellow  and 
blue  and  crimson,  and  she  wore  also  various  coins 
and  beads  and  charms,  which  kept  up  a  continuous 
jingle.  On  the  whole  Granny  Tunks  was  a  pictur- 
esque figure  of  the  Oriental  type,  and  this,  added  to 
her  sinister  reputation  as  one  acquainted  with  the  un- 
seen world,  gained  her  considerable  respect.  The 
marsh  folk,  still  superstitious  in  spite  of  steam  and 
electricity,  called  her  "The  Wise  Woman,"  but 
Granny  dubbed  herself  "A  Witch-Wife,"  quite  like  a 
Norse  warrior  would  have  done. 

Bella  stared  at  the  crystal  until  she  felt  quite 
dreamy,  while  Granny  watched  her  with  a  bright  and 
cunning  eye.  Suddenly  she  rose  and  took  the  gleam- 
ing globe  in  her  skinny  hand.  "You've  put  your  life- 
power  into  it,"  mumbled  the  witch-wife;  "now  I'll 
read  what's  coming." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Bella,  suddenly  startled  into  wake- 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  107 

fulness.      "I    don't   want   to   know   anything,    Mrs. 
Tunks." 

Granny  took  no  notice,  but  peered  into  the  crystal 
by  the  red  light  of  the  fire.  "You've  trouble  yet, 
before  you,  dearie,"  she  said  in  a  sing-song  voice, 
"but  peace  in  the  end.  You'll  marry  the  gentleman 
you  love,  when  a  black  man  comes  to  aid  your  for- 
tunes." 

"A  black  man!    What  do  you  mean?" 
"There's  no  more,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks;  "the  vision 
has  faded.    A  black  man,  remember." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  COMING  OF  DURGO. 

The  fortnight  which  followed  the  funeral  of  Captain 
Huxham  passed  quietly  enough  at  the  Solitary  Farm. 
Mrs.  Coppersley  went  several  times  to  London  for  the 
purpose  of  interviewing  her  late  brother's  lawyer,  who 
had  his  office  in  Cade  Lane.  She  said  very  little  to 
Bella  when  she  returned,  and  on  her  part  Bella  did  not 
ask  questions.  Had  she  been  more  versed  in  worldly 
wisdom  she  would  have  accompanied  her  aunt  to  see 
the  solicitor  for  herself,  so  that  she  might  learn  what 
disposition  had  been  made  of  the  property.  But  Bella 
was  an  unsophisticated  girl,  and  moreover  was  so 
anxiously  lamenting  the  continued  absence  of  Cyril 
that  she  neglected  needful  things. 

Lister  had  disappeared  from  the  neighbourhood, 
and  Bella  had  neither  seen  him  again  nor  had  she 
heard  from  him.  Considering  what  had  taken  place 
at  their  last  interview,  she  was  inclined  to  think  that 
Cyril  had  passed  out  of  her  life  for  ever.  But  some- 
thing told  her  that  in  spite  of  her  unjust  accusations 
he  still  loved  her,  and  would  return.  Meantime,  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  in  patience,  and  to  busy 
herself  with  her  ordinary  pursuits.  These,  however, 
had  lost  their  savour  for  the  girl,  since  the  whole 
of  her  mind  was  filled  with  the  image  of  the  man  she 
loved. 

Pence  did  not  fulfil  his  threat  of  informing  the 
police  at  the  end  of  three  days.  Bella  waited  in  dread 
for  the  arrival  of  Inspector  Inglis  to  ask  her  questions 
concerning  Lister,  but  the  officer  never  appeared,  and 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  .109 

as  the  days  glided  by  she  began  to  think  that  Silas 
would  say  nothing.  With  her  aunt  she  went  on  Sun- 
day to  the  Little  Bethel,  and  heard  him  preach,  but 
he  did  not  seek  a  private  interview  with  her.  Even 
when  he  delivered  his  sermons  he  sedulously  avoided 
her  eye,  so  she  deemed  that  he  was  ashamed  of  the 
wild  way  in  which  he  had  talked.  What  struck  her 
most  about  the  young  man  was  his  wan  looks.  He 
seemed  to  be  thinner  than  ever,  and  his  cheeks  had  a 
more  hectic  flush,  while  his  eyes  glittered  feverishly, 
as  though  he  were  consumed  with  an  inward  fire.  But 
his  discourses  became  more  and  more  powerful  and 
were  greatly  admired  by  his  congregation,  who  liked 
melodramatic  religion.  Mrs.  Coppersley  was  es- 
pecially loud  in  her  expression  of  approval. 

"What  a  gift,"  she  said  to  Bella,  when  they  re- 
turned home  on  the  second  Sunday  through  the  rap- 
idly-yellowing cornfields.     "He  spares  no  one." 

"And  that  is  just  what  I  like  least  about  his  ser- 
mons," retorted  the  girl.  "As  a  Christian  he  should 
be  more  merciful." 

"You  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Coppersley  tartly. 

"I  know  what  Christ  preached,"  replied  Bella 
quietly;  "and  Mr.  Pence  has  not  the  spirit  of  His 
preaching." 

"In  what  way,  pray?" 

"Mr.  Pence  does  not  do  as  he  would  be  done  by. 
I  wonder  how  he  would  like  to  suffer  the  condemna- 
tion which  he  measures  out  so  freely  to  other  people." 

"Silas  Pence  is  a  good  man,  and  no  condemnation 
is  possible  where  he  is  concerned,"  cried  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley fervently,  and  bounced  into  the  house. 

"In  that  case  he  should  make  allowance  for  those 
who  are  not  good." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  elder  woman,  stating  her 
views    uncompromisingly.      "The    good    shall   go    to 


no  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

heaven,  and  the   wicked  to   hell:   that's   Scripture/' 

"As  translated  by  man,"  finished  Bella  neatly ;  "but 
the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  Aunt  Rosamund " 

"Bella,  you  are  irreligious,"  interrupted  the  lady, 
removing  her  hat  and  placing  it  on  the  kitchen-table. 
"I  won't  have  freethinkers  in  my  house." 

Bella  raised  her  finely-marked  eyebrows.  "Your 
house?" 

"Yes,"  almost  shouted  Mrs.  Coppersley  violently, 
for  she  felt  somewhat  nervous  as  to  what  she  was 
about  to  say,  "my  house.  I  didn't  tell  you  before,  as 
I  have  a  kind  heart,  but  it  is  time  we  understood  one 
another.  To-night  I  shall  explain  myself,  so  that  you 
may  understand  your  position." 

"You  shall  explain  yourself  now,"  said  Bella,  pale 
but  determined. 

"I  have  no  time,"  said  her  aunt  brusquely;  "Henry 
is  coming  to  dinner." 

"I  don't  care  if  Mr.  Vand  is  coming  to  dinner 
twenty  times  over,"  said  Bella,  her  eyes  growing  hard 
with  anger.  "You  have  said  so  much  that  you  must 
say  all,  Aunt  Rosamund." 

"Don't  bully  and  bounce  me,  miss." 

"I  shall  act  exactly  as  I  please,  and  it  is  my  pleasure 
that  you  would  explain  what  you  mean." 

'1  have  to  lay  the  cloth  and  see  to  the  dinner.  You 
know  that  Jane  never  can  cook  to  Henry's  liking. 
I  daresay  the  meat  is  burnt  and  the "  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley was  about  to  pass  into  the  scullery  where  the 
one  small  servant,  over  whom  she  tyrannised,  slaved 
at  the  mid-day  meal,  when  Bella  caught  her  by  the 
wrist.  "How  dare  you,  Bella?"  cried  the  stout 
woman. 

"Come  into  the  drawing-room,  out  of  Jane's  hear- 
ing," whispered  Bella  fiercely.  "I  shall  not  wait 
another  minute  for  an  explanation.  This  house  is 
either  mine  or  yours." 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  jn 

"Very  well,"  cried  Mrs.  Coppersley,  bouncing 
towards  the  kitchen  door,  "If  you  will  have  it,  you 
shall  have  it.  I  have  tried  to  spare  you, 
but " 

"Go  on  to  the  drawing-room,  please,"  interrupted 
Bella  imperiously,  as  she  saw  the  small  servant  peep- 
ing round  the  corner;  "there  is  no  need  for  us  to 
discuss  private  matters  in  public." 

"The  whole  parish  shall  soon  know  what  I  am 
about  to  say,"  snapped  Mrs.  Coppersley,  and  rolled 
towards  the  drawing-room. 

"Rolled"  is  precisely  the  word  to  use  in  connection 
with  Mrs.  Coppersley's  way  of  walking,  for  she  was 
an  extremely  stout,  well-fed  woman,  large-limbed  and 
clumsy.  Her  round,  chubby  face  was  rosy  and  her 
eyes  were  as  black  as  her  hair.  She  did  not  look 
uncomely,  but  there  was  something  coarse  and  ple- 
beian in  her  appearance.  Although  she  was  in  mourn- 
ing for  her  late  brother  she  could  not  altogether 
restrain  her  flamboyant  taste,  and  therefore  wore  a 
red  feather  in  the  hat  she  had  left  in  the  kitchen,  and 
yellow  gloves,  which  she  was  now  impatiently 
removing. 

Outside  it  was  extremely  warm  and  brilliant  with 
sunshine,  but  in  the  vast  drawing-room  the  air  was 
pleasantly  cool  and  agreeable.  The  blinds  being  blue, 
only  a  faint  light  came  through  them  since  they  were 
down,  and  the  cerulean  atmosphere  was  almost 
religious  in  its  feeling.  Bella,  ever  sensitive  to  the 
unseen,  in  spite  of  her  ignorance  of  psychic  phenom- 
enon felt  the  grave  influence,  but  her  aunt,  being  of  a 
coarser  fibre,  bounced  red-faced  and  hot  into  the  room, 
openly  cross  at  having  been  summoned  to  what  was 
likely  to  prove  a  disagreeable  interview. 

"Henry  will  be  here  shortly,"  she  said  pettishly, 
"and  he  doesn't  like  to  be  kept  waiting  for  his 
meals." 


ii2  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

"On  this  occasion  he  must  wait,"  said  Bella  dryly, 
"it  will  do  him  good." 

"Don't  speak  of  Henry  in  that  tone,  miss ;  you  know: 
he  is  the  most  amiable  man  in  the  world." 

"Your  speech  about  his  impatience  for  dinner  sounds 
like  it.  However,  we  need  converse  only  for  a  few 
minutes.  I  understood  you  to  say  that  this  house  is 
yours,  Aunt  Rosamund. 

Mrs.  Coppersley  flopped  down  into  one  of  the 
emerald  arm-chairs  and  placed  her  pudgy  hands  on  her 
stout  knees.  "It  is,"  she  said,  glancing  round  the 
vari-coloured  room  with  great  pride.  "The  house  is 
mine  and  the  farm  is  mine,  and  Jabez's  income  of  five 
hundred  a  year,  well  invested,  is  mine." 

Bella  grew  pale.  Mrs.  Coppersley  spoke  with  such 
conviction  that  she  believed  her  to  be  telling  the  truth. 
"And  what  is  left  to  me?"  she  demanded  in  a  low 
tone,  for  the  shock  took  away  her  breath. 

"Your  aunt's  love,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley,  in  a 
matter-of-fact  way.  "Jabez  asked  me  to  look  after 
you ;  and  so  long  as  you  behave  yourself  I  shall  do  so." 

Bella  passed  over  this  petty  speech.  "Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  my  father  has  left  everything  to  you?" 
she  asked  pointedly. 

"Everything,"  assented  Mrs.  Coppersley,  with  an 
air  of  triumph.  "Jabez  wasn't  so  rich  as  folk  thought 
him,  and  although  he  had  enough  invested  to  give 
him  five  hundred  a  year,  he  had  little  ready  cash. 
When  my  late  husband  died  he  left  me  a  good  sum. 
Jabez  borrowed  this  and  added  it  to  his  own,  so  that 
he  might  buy  Bleacres.  I  agreed,  but  only  on  con- 
dition that  Jabez  should  leave  me  the  whole  property 
when  he  died.  I  saw  that  the  will  was  made,  and 
Mr.  Timson,  the  Cade  Lane  lawyer,  is  now  proving 
it.  When  probate  is  obtained,  my  dear,"  ended  Mrs. 
Coppersley  amiably,  "I  shall  marry  Henry  and  will 
be  happy  for  evermore." 


THE   SOLITARY  FARM  j.13 

"What  about  me?"  gasped  Bella,  utterly  over- 
whelmed. 

"You  can  stay  here  until  you  marry,"  said  Mrs. 
Coppersley  coldly,  "as  I  am  a  Christian  woman,  and 
wish  to  obey  Jabez's  request.  He  left  you  to  me  as  a 
legacy,  so  I  will  look  after  you;  only  behave  yourself." 

"Do  I  ever  do  anything  else?"  asked  Bella 
bitterly. 

"Oh,  dear  me,  yes,"  returned  her  aunt  complacently. 
"You  run  after  men." 

Bella  rose  with  a  flushed  cheek.     "That  is  a  lie." 

Mrs.  Coppersley  rose,  also  in  a  violent  rage  and 
quite  glad  to  vent  her  petty  spite  on  one  who  could 
not  retaliate.  "Oh,  I'm  a  liar,  am  I  ?"  she  said  shrilly. 
"You  call  me  a  liar  when  I  am  only  keeping  you  out 
of  charity " 

"Stop !"  Bella  flung  up  her  hand  and  spoke  firmly. 
"You  are  not  doing  that,  Aunt  Rosamund.  In  one 
way  or  another  you  have  persuaded  my  father  into 
leaving  you  what  is  rightfully  mine.  But  I  shall  see 
Mr.  Timson,  and  read  the  will;  you  shall  not  have  it 
your  own  way  altogether." 

Mrs.  Coppersley  snapped  her  large  ringer  and 
thumb.  "Go  and  see  the  will,  by  all  means,"  she 
scoffed  in  a  coarse  voice;  "you  won't  find  any  flaw 
in  it,  as  I  was  careful  that  it  should  be  properly 
drawn  up.  I  have  a  perfect  right  to  the  farm,  as  my 
money  helped  to  buy  it." 

"So  be  it.  Keep  the  farm,  but  give  me  the  income. 
That,  at  least,  you  have  no  right  to  retain/' 

"I  have  the  right  of  possession,  which  is  nine 
points  of  the  law,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley 
violently,  "and  the  will  is  plain  enough.  Jabez  did  right 
to  leave  the  money  to  me,  and  not  to  a  chit  of  a  girl 
like  you,  who  would  waste  your  father's  hard-earned 
money  on  that  wastrel  from  London." 

'Of  whom  are  you  talking?" 


«/ 


tii4  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

"Don't  pretend  ignorance,  miss,  for  I  won't  have 
it.  I  mean  Mr.  Lister,  as  he  calls  himself,  though  I 
daresay  he  is  no  better  than  he  should  be." 

"You  have  no  right  to  say  that." 

"I'll  say  what  I  like  and  do  what  I  like.  Remember 
I  am  mistress;  and  as  you  depend  entirely  on  me, 
miss,  I  order  you  to  give  up  all  idea  of  this  Lister 
scamp  and  marry  Silas  Pence,  who  is " 

"I  shall  certainly  not  marry  Silas  Pence,  or  anyone 
but  Cyril,"  said  Bella  in  icy  tones.  "You  have  no 
right  to  interfere  in " 

Mrs.  Coppersley  stamped  and  interrupted  in  her 
turn.  "No  right!  no  right!"  she  bellowed  furiously. 
"I  have  every  right.  This  house  is  mine,  and  the 
food  you  eat  is  mine.  If  I  turned  you  out  you  would 
have  to  starve,  for  I  am  certain  that  your  fine  lover 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  you.  He's  a  bad  man ; 
your  father  said  so." 

"My  father  knew  nothing  of  Mr.  Lister." 

wHe  knew  that  he  was  bad ;  he  said  as  much.  Why" 
— Mrs.  Coppersley  pointed  a  fat  finger  towards  the 
round  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room — "there's  a 
photograph  of  him,  and  in  a  silver  frame,  too.  What 
extravagance.  How  dare  you  spend  my  money  on 
silver  frames?" 

She  dashed  forward  to  seize  the  photograph  of 
Cyril,  which  Bella  had  brought  down  from  her  bed- 
room and  had  left  unthinkingly  on  the  table.  Doubt- 
less Mrs.  Coppersley  would  have  destroyed  the  por- 
trait, but  that  Bella  secured  it  before  the  good  lady 
could  reach  the  table.  "Mr.  Lister  gave  me  this," 
said  Bella,  putting  it  behind  her  back;  "frame  and  all; 
it  is  mine." 

"And  you  dare  to  bring  into  the  house  the  picture 
of  a  wicked  profligate  whom  your  father  hated," 
roared  Mrs.  Coppersley,  her  red  face  shining  with 
perspiration  and  her  little  eyes  flashing  with  wrath. 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  1115 

"My  father  being  so  good  himself,"  said  Bella 
ironically,  and  feeling  quite  cool.  "Mr.  Lister  is  not 
a  profligate,  Aunt  Rosamund,  and  you  are  a  bad 
woman !" 

Mrs.  Coppersley  gasped  like  a  dying  dolphin.  "Me 
a  bad  woman!"  she  cried,  puffing  out  her  cheeks 
ludicrously;  "me,  when  Henry  says  that  I  am  the 
best  woman  in  the  world.  And  I'd  have  you  know, 
Bella,  that  I'm  a  lady  and  no  woman,  miss — so  there." 

The  girl,  in  spite  of  her  grief  and  dismay,  laughed 
right  out.  "Even  a  lady  must  be  a  woman,"  she 
observed  sarcastically. 

"Leave  my  house!  leave  my  house,"  panted  Mrs. 
Coppersley. 

"No.  I  shall  remain  here  until  I  know  if  the  will 
is  correct.  I  shall  stay  here,  as  I  say,  and  shall  receive 
polite  treatment.  If  I  do  not,  I  shall  dispute  the  will, 
and  make  things  unpleasant." 

Mrs.  Coppersley  snapped  her  fingers.  "That  for 
all  the  harm  you  can  do,"  she  said  coarsely.  "The 
will  stands  good  in  law.  I  have  made  sure  of  that 
by  consulting  Mr.  Timson,  who  drew  it  up.  You 
can  stay  here  for  a  week ;  at  the  end  of  that  time  you 
pack  up  and  go." 

"Where  to,  Aunt  Rosamund?" 

"That's  your  look  out,  miss.  But  you  don't  stay 
here  to  spoil  my  honeymoon  with  my  darling  Henry." 

Bella  shrugged  her  shoulders.  It  really  was  not 
worth  while  losing  her  temper  with  a  person  whose 
methods  were  so  crude.  The  more  enraged  Mrs. 
Coppersley  became,  the  cooler  Bella  felt.  "Do  you 
know  what  you  are,  Aunt  Rosamund?"  she  re- 
marked coolly.  "You  are  a  bully,  and  a  petty 
tyrant.  While  my  father  was  alive  you  cringed  to 
him  because  you  were  afraid.  Now  that  you  think 
you  have  the  whip  hand  of  me,  you  vent  your  spite 
on  one  whom  you  think  cannot  retaliate.     If  I  had 


Ln6  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

the  money,  you  would  cringe  to  me;  as  you  have 
it,  you  take  every  advantage  of  your  position.  But 
it  won't  do,  Aunt  Rosamund,  for  I  am  not  the  girl 
to  submit  to  your  insults.  I  shall  stop  here  so  long 
as  it  pleases  me  to  stop,  and  if  you  make  yourself 
disagreeable  I  shall  know  what  to  do." 

Mrs.  Coppersley's  face  grew  slowly  white,  and  her 
mouth  opened  and  shut  like  a  cod-fish.  Had  Bella 
wept,  she  would  have  gone  on  bullying  triumphantly, 
but  this  cool,  calm,  scornful  demeanour  frightened 
her.  At  heart,  like  all  bullies,  she  was  a  coward, 
and  knew  well  that  if  it  were  known  how  she  had 
ousted  Bella  from  her  rightful  inheritance,  that  she 
would  be  unpopular.  As  Mrs.  Coppersley  liked  to 
be  popular,  and  hoped,  by  means  of  her  marriage 
with  Vand,  her  wrongfully  obtained  income,  and  her 
possession  of  Bleacres,  to  be  the  great  lady  of  the 
neighbourhood,  she  did  not  wish  to  drive  Bella  to 
extremes.    She  therefore  wiped  her  face,  and  hedged. 

"You  mustn't  be  angry  with  me  Bella,"  she  said 
in  quieter  tones,  "I  wish  you  well,  my  girl." 

"You  wish  me  just  as  much  as  suits  yourself," 
retorted  Bella  coolly;  "so  far  you  have  had  every- 
thing your  own  way.  Now  I  mean  to  look  into  things 
for  myself.  You  can  go  now,  and  entertain  your 
darling  Henry.  I  shall  not  come  to  dinner.  Send  up 
Jane  with  some  food  to  my  bedroom." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  protested  Mrs. 
Coppersley  feebly,  for  her  late  rage  had  exhausted 
her,  and  she  did  not  feel  equal  to  fighting  this  pale, 
steady-eyed  girl. 

"I 'have  told  you  what  to  do;  so  go  and  do  it!" 
said  Bella,  without  raising  her  voice,  and  looked  Mrs. 
Coppersley  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

The  mistress  of  Bleacres  tried  to  face  down  the 
gaze,  but  failed,  and  thoroughly  cowed  and  beaten, 
in  spite  of  her  better  position,  she  slowly  retreated, 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  117 

muttering  to  herself  a  vengeance  which  she  was  unable 
to  fulfil. 

Left  alone,  Bella  gave  way.  Pride  had  kept  her  up 
during  the  quarrel  with  her  aunt,  but  now,  secure 
from  observation,  she  broke  down  and  wept.  Never 
before  had  she  felt  so  lonely  or  so  helpless.  Cyril  was 
away,  and  she  could  not  confide  in  him,  for  even  if 
he  had  been  present  the  terms  on  which  they  had 
parted  forbade  confidences.  There  was  Dora  Ankers, 
the  schoolmistress  certainly — a  good  friend,  but  a  bad 
adviser,  as  she  knew  very  little  of  the  world.  And 
there  was  no  one  else  who  could  help  her  in  the 
dilemma  in  which  she  was  placed.  She  had  no  home, 
!no  friends,  and — on  the  face  of  it — no  lover.  It  was 
a  terrible  position  for  a  girl  who  hitherto  had  never 
met  with  serious  trouble. 

In  spite  of  the  drawn-down  blinds  and  the  cool 
atmosphere  of  the  room,  Bella  could  scarcely  breathe, 
so  she  moved  to  a  side  window,  drew  up  the  blind,  and 
lifted  the  lower  sash.  Outside,  the  brilliance  of  the 
sunshine  was  almost  blinding,  and  through  the  quiver- 
ing heads,  across  the  still,  stiff  stalks  of  the  corn,  for 
there  was  no  wind,  she  could  see  the  gaudy  red  of  the 
scarecrow  coat.  The  mere  glint  of  the  violent  hue 
made  her  head  ache,  and  she  returned  to  the  middle 
of  the  room  to  walk  up  and  down  wearily  thinking 
of  what  was  best  to  be  done  in  the  circumstances  in 
which  she  found  herself.  The  photograph  of  Cyril 
in  its  silver  frame  she  replaced  on  the  table.  The 
much-loved  face  smiled  encouragingly  on  her.  At 
least,  in  her  over-wrought  state  she  thought  so,  and 
the  thought  aided  her  to  beat  down  the  many  fears 
which  assailed  her. 

While  musingly  walking  the  room,  she  became 
aware  of  a  slight  noise,  and  turned  abruptly  towards 
the  window  to  see  a  black  face  grinning  at  her,  with' 
very  white  teeth.    At  once  her  thoughts  reverted  to 


n8  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

the  prophecy  of  Granny  Tunks,  and  she  felt  a  sudden 
thrill  of  dread  as  she  saw  that  a  black  man  actually 
had  come  to  the  Manor-house.  For  one  moment,  the 
negro  and  the  fair,  young  girl  looked  steadfastly  at 
one  another,  she  filled  with  nervous  fear,  and  he, 
curiously  observant.  After  an  almost  imperceptible 
pause — which  seemed  hours  to  Bella — the  man  leaped 
through  the  window,  before  she  could  regain  her 
voice  to  forbid  his  entrance. 

"Where  is  my  master?"  he  asked,  in  guttural  tones, 
but  in  fairly  good  English. 

Bella  did  not  immediately  reply,  as  her  nerves  fairly 
thrilled  with  the  weird  realisation  of  what  the  witch- 
wife  had  seen  in  the  crystal,  and  even  now  she  had 
not  her  voice  under  command.  The  negro  was  tall, 
bulky,  and  powerfully  framed,  coal-black  from  head 
to  foot,  with  tightly  curled  hair  and  sharp,  white 
teeth  like  those  of  a  dog.  Bella  had  never  seen  so 
huge  and  strong  a  man,  but  in  spite  of  his  formidable 
appearance,  his  dark  eyes  had  a  kindly  look  in  their 
depths,  and  his  movements  were  extremely  gentle. 
Apparently  his  bark  was  worse  than  his  bite,  though 
his  uncivilised  looks  were  enough  to  awe  the  boldest. 
Plainly  but  roughly  dressed  in  an  old  tweed  suit,  with 
brown  shoes  and  a  bowler  hat,  he  was  not  noticeable, 
save  for  his  stature  and  enormous  virility.  The  sen- 
sation he  produced  on  the  girl  was  overpowering,  yet 
it  was  not  entirely  one  of  fear.  In  spite  of  his  can- 
nibal looks  and  unexpected  entrance,  and  imperious 
demand,  she  felt  perfectly  safe. 

"I  am  Durgo!"  explained  the  negro,  annoyed  by 
her  silence,  as  was  apparent  from  the  frown  which 
wrinkled  his  eye-brows.     "Where  is  my  master?" 

"I  don't  know  where  your  master  is,"  she  replied, 
finding  her  tongue  with  some  difficulty.  "I  do  not 
know  who  your  master  is." 

"My  master,"  said  the  negro,  "is  my  master.     He 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  119 

came  here  two  weeks  and  some  days  ago,  more  or 
less.     I  have  come  to  find  him.     Where  is  he?" 

"How  can  I  tell  you  when  I  do  not  even  know  his 
name  ?"  asked  Bella  sharply. 

"His  name  is "     Durgo  was  about  to  satisfy 

her  curiosity,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  photograph 
in  the  silver  frame,  which  still  stood  on  the  table. 
With  a  guttural  cry  of  delight,  he  caught  this  up  in. 
his  huge  hands.  "Oh,  my  master!  my  master!"  he 
gurgled,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

Bella  stepped  back  a  pace  with  a  scared  look.  "Mr. 
Lister  your  master?" 

Durgo  nodded,  and  coolly  slipped  the  photograph, 
frame  and  all,  into  the  breast  pocket  of  his  tweed 
coat.  "He  is  here!  I  shall  find  him,"  he  remarked. 
"Did  my  master  see  Captain  Huxham  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  mechanically. 

"Did  my  master  and  Captain  Huxham  quarrel?" 

"Yes,"   she   replied   again,   and   still   mechanically. 

"And  did  my  master  get  what  he  wanted?"  de- 
manded the  negro,  rolling  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Lister  wanted,"  said  Bella 
faintly;  "you  must  explain  yourself,  and " 

"I  explain  nothing  until  I  see  my  master,"  was 
Durgo's  reply.  "Perhaps  Captain  Huxham  knows 
where  my  master  is?" 

"Captain  Huxham  is  dead,"  she  gasped. 

Durgo  shut  his  strong  white  teeth  with  a  click. 
"Dead!"  he  repeated.  "Ah — aha — aha;  Captain 
Huxham  is  dead.     Then  my  master " 

"No,"  cried  Bella,  covering  her  eyes.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve that  Cyril  killed  my  father — I  don't  believe  it." 

"Cyril!  father!"  repeated  Durgo,  looking  at  her 
curiously.  "I  must  learn  if "  He  broke  off  sud- 
denly and  moved  noiselessly  to  the  window.  Bella 
stretched  a  helpless  hand  to  stay  him,  but,  lightly 
vaulting  out  of  doors,  he  disappeared  in  a  moment. 


.120  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

She  rushed  to  the  window  and  saw  him  running  down 
the  path  towards  the  boundary  channel.  There  was 
no  chance  of  catching  him  up,  as  she  saw  well,  and 
therefore  drew  back. 

"The  crystal!  the  crystal!"  she  muttered  to  herself, 
shivering.  "Granny  must  know  what  it  all  means.  I 
must  see  Granny,  and  ask  about  the  crystal." 


CHAPTER  X 

A  lovers'  meeting 

Having  made  up  her  mind  to  seek  an  explanation 
from  Mrs.  Tunks  regarding  the  vision  of  the  negro 
in  the  crystal — that  is,  if  the  old  woman  really  had 
beheld  the  same — Bella  lost  no  time  in  executing  her 
purpose.  In  two  or  three  minutes  she  hastily  re- 
assumed  her  hat,  cloak,  and  gloves,  which  she  had 
removed  while  conversing  with  Mrs.  Coppersley. 
Then  taking  her  sunshade,  she  left  the  Manor-house 
by  the  front  door.  In  the  dining-room  she  could  hear 
the  refined  tones  of  Vand  and  the  coarse  voice  of 
Mrs.  Coppersley,  as  they  laughed  and  chattered  in  the 
most  amiable  manner.  Evidently  the  pair  had  quite 
forgotten  the  recent  tragedy,  which  had  invested  Ble- 
acres  with  so  sinister  a  reputation.  With  a  nervous 
shiver — for  the  merriment  seemed  to  be  singularly  ill- 
timed — Bella  closed  the  door  softly,  and  walked  down 
the  corn-path.  Glancing  right  and  left,  and  straight 
ahead,  she  could  see  nothing  of  the  black  man,  who 
had  appeared  and  disappeared  so  mysteriously.  Like 
the  witches  in  "Macbeth,"  he  had  made  himself  into 
thin  air,  and  had  vanished. 

Bella  felt  remarkably  uneasy,  and  on  the  face  of  it 
had  great  cause  to  be  so.  Apparently,  and  she  had 
not  the  least  doubt  of  this,  Durgo  was  Cyril's  ser- 
vant, who  came  in  search  of  him.  She  rather  won- 
dered that  her  lover  should  have  so  uncivilised  an 
attendant,  and  resolved  that  if  they  married  she  would 
endeavour  to  get  him  to  dispense  with  the  services  of 
the  man.     But  what  struck  her  most,  were  the  ques- 


122  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

tions  of  Durgo.  He  evidently  expected  Cyril  to  meet 
Huxham  and  to  have  a  quarrel.  Also  the  stated  time 
— of  two  weeks  and  some  days — corresponded  with  the 
midnight  visit  of  Cyril  to  the  Manor-house.  She  recol- 
lected then  that  the  visit  was  paid,  not  at  midnight,  but 
about  eight  o'clock,  and  saw  in  the  mistake  she  had 
made  the  perplexity  of  her  bewildered  brain.  With 
a  groan  she  tried  to  clear  her  understanding  by  swift 
movement,  for  she  felt  unable  to  follow  any  regular 
train  of  thought. 

Nevertheless,  Durgo's  innocent  speech  re-awakened 
her  old  suspicions,  though  she  dreaded  to  recall  them. 
What  if,  after  all,  Cyril  had  been  the  visitor  of  a 
fortnight  since?  In  that  case,  since  Huxham  had 
been  found  dead,  Cyril  must  have  struck  the  blow. 
The  horror  of  the  mere  idea,  which  placed  a  barrier 
between  them,  made  her  turn  cold,  and  she  resolutely 
put  it  from  her.  Cyril  was  the  man  she  loved;  the 
man  in  whom  she  had  every  reason  to  believe.  He 
had  solemnly  sworn  that  he  was  innocent  of  her 
father's  blood,  and  if  she  entertained  a  grain  of  af- 
fection for  him  she  was  bound  to  believe  his  word, 
even  in  the  face  of  strong  evidence  to  the  contrary. 
He  must  be  guiltless;  he  was  guiltless,  as  she  assured 
herself;  his  looks  and  words  and  bearing  convinced 
her  of  his  guiltlessness.  In  one  way  or  another,  the 
promised  explanation  would  solve  the  difficult  prob- 
lem.    But  when   would  that  explanation   be   made? 

Then,  again,  Mrs.  Tunks  must  know  somewhat  of 
the  truth,  since  she  had  so  truly  foretold  the  coming 
of  the  negro.  Bella,  entirely  lacking  the  mystical 
sense,  had  no  belief  in  visions,  and  assumed  that  the 
old  woman,  for  her  own  ends,  had  played  a  comedy, 
based  upon  actual  fact.  Taking  this  view,  the  girl 
walked  towards  the  hut  of  the  witch-wife,  resolute  to 
learn  how  much  Mrs.  Tunks  knew  concerning  Cyril's 
past  life.     Something  she  must  know,  else  she  could 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  123 

not  have  hinted  at  the  apearance  of  the  negro.  Bella 
herself  was  ignorant  that  her  lover  had  so  sinister  a 
servant,  but  it  seemed  that  Mrs.  Tunks  was  better  in- 
formed. And  since  the  old  hag  knew  so  much,  she 
must  know  more.  A  few  questions  would  doubtless 
bring  forth  the  information,  and  then  Bella  felt  that 
she  would  know  how  to  act.  But  the  position  was 
extremely  difficult,  and  the  skein  of  life  very 
tangled. 

Thinking  in  this  desultory  way,  she  reached  the 
end  of  the  corn-field,  and  was  about  to  turn  along 
the  pathway  leading  to  the  hut,  when  she  heard  her 
name  called  anxiously.  Looking  up,  she  saw  Dora 
Ankers  on  the  hither  side  of  the  boundary  channel. 

"Oh,  Bella!  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  sang  out 
the  Marshely  school-mistress  volubly.  "I  really  didn't 
want  to  go  to  the  Manor  and  meet  that  horrid  aunt 
of  yours.  Come  with  me,  dear;  he  is  waiting  at  my 
cottage." 

"Who  is  waiting?"  demanded  Bella,  greatly  sur- 
prised by  this  address. 

"Oh,  my  dear,  as  if  to  a  girl  in  love  there  is  any 
he  but  the  one  he  in  the  world,"  said  Dora,  who  was 
sentimental  and  impatient. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Lister " 

"Mr.  Lister?  Oh,  you  cruel-hearted  girl:  do  you 
call  him  that?" 

"I  mean  Cyril,"  said  Bella  hurriedly;  "is  he " 

"Yes,  he  is.  He  won't  come  to  the  Manor,  and 
can't  very  well  see  you  in  his  own  rooms,  as  that 
nasty-minded  Mrs.  Block  might  say  things.  She  is 
such  a  gossip  you  know.  In  despair  he  came  to  me, 
poor  dear,  so  I  asked  him  to  wait  in  my  sitting-room 
while  I  came  for  you." 

Bella  drew  herself  up  stiffly.  She  did  not  desire  to 
appear  too  willing  to  obey  the  summons  of  her  lover. 
Womanlike,  she  wished  him  to  say  that  he  was  in  the 


I24  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

wrong,  so  that  her  pride  might  be  saved.  "I  am  going 
to  Mrs.  Tunks'." 

"What  for?"  asked  Dora,  bluntly. 

"Never  mind,"  replied  Miss  Huxham,  unwilling  to 
confess  that  she  was  dealing  with  uncanny  things  be- 
yond the  veil.    "I  must  go." 

Dora  tripped  lightly  across  the  narrow  planks,  and 
slipped  her  arm  within  that  of  her  friend.  "You  shall 
do  nothing  of  the  sort,  you  cold  thing,"  she  declared. 
"Poor  Mr.  Lister  is  quite  broken-hearted  by  the  way 
in  which  you  have  treated  him." 

"Oh!"  Bella  became  stirrer  than  ever.  "Has  he 
said " 

"He  has  said  nothing !  he  is  too  much  a  man  to  say 
anything.  But  I  saw  his  poor,  pale,  peaked  face, 
and " 

"Does  he  look  ill  ?"  Bella  was  seized  with  a  sudden 
qualm. 

"111?"  Miss  Ankers'  gestures  and  looks  became 
eloquent.    "Dear,  he  is  dying." 

"Oh,  Dora!"  Miss  Huxham  kilted  up  her  skirts 
and  fairly  ran  across  the  planks.  "Why  didn't  you 
come  for  me  before  ?" 

"You  don't  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry  to  come  now," 
laughed  Dora,  crossing  in  her  turn;  "yet  the  poor, 
dear  fellow  is  dying — to  see  you." 

"Where  has  he  been  all  this  time?" 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  dear.  He  came  straight 
from  London  last  night,  and  went  to  my  cottage  this 
morning  to  see  me.  I  was  in  church,  so  he  came  again 
in  the  afternoon,  and  asked  me  to  help  him.  Oh,  my 
dear,  he  is  handsome,  and  I  felt  that  I  could  do  any- 
thing for  him.  I  wish  he  had  made  love  to  me,"  sighed 
the  romantic  schoolmistress;  "but  all  he  did,  was  to 
ask  me  to  bring  you  to  my  cottage  for  an  interview. 
So  come,  dear,  come,  and  save  the  poor  darling  from 
an  early  grave." 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  .125 

Bella  needed  no  urging,  for  she  was  genuinely  con- 
cerned over  the  news,  and  sped  towards  Marshely  like 
a  fawn,  with  Miss  Ankers  at  her  heels.  Dora  had  no 
difficulty  in  keeping  up,  as  she  was  a  slim,  small,  dainty 
woman,  more  like  a  fairy  than  mere  flesh  and  blood. 
In  spite  of  her  age,  and  she  confessed  to  thirty-five, 
she  had  a  pink-and-white  skin,  golden  hair,  and  clear 
blue  eyes.  Dressed  as  she  was,  in  pale  blue,  with  many 
ribbons  and  ornaments,  she  looked  like  a  well-arrayed 
doll,  just  out  of  a  satin-lined  box.  But  for  all  her 
innocent  looks,  Miss  Ankers  was  a  stern  schoolmis- 
tress, and  during  business  hours  behaved  with  great 
severity.  Out  of  them,  however,  she  presented  herself 
to  the  village  world  in  her  true  colours,  as  a  senti- 
mental, airy,  sweet-tempered  little  creature,  who  was 
everybody's  friend  and  nobody's  enemy.  Bella  was 
always  fond  of  her,  but  at  this  moment  felt  more 
attached  to  her  than  ever — as  she  had  every  reason  to 
be,  seeing  that  Miss  Ankers  had  given  up  her  snug 
sitting-room  for  a  lovers'  meeting,  and  had  actually 
brought  that  meeting  about. 

"You're  my  good  angel,  Dora,"  said  Bella,  kissing 
her  friend,  as  they  drew  near  the  cottage,  on  the  out- 
skirts of  Marshely. 

"Oh,  what  waste !"  remonstrated  Dora,  opening  her 
china-blue  eyes  to  their  widest.  "What  will  Mr.  Lis- 
ter say  to  your  throwing  away  kisses  on  me  ?" 

Bella  laughed,  for  her  heart  had  grown  unexpect- 
edly light.  She  had  a  firm  belief  that  all  misunder- 
standings were  about  to  be  cleared  up  between  her 
lover  and  herself.  Also  she  acknowledged  to  herself, 
with  great  and  thankful  joy,  that  Cyril,  in  spite  of  her 
misgivings,  had  returned  to  her.  Seeing  how  she  had 
doubted  and  accused  him,  he  might  have  departed  for 
ever,  and  with  every  reason  for  such  a  course.  But 
apparently  he  loved  her  so  devotedly  that  he  was  will- 
ing to  remain  and  explain  himself.    It  was  no  wonder 


,126  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

that  Bella's  heart  leaped  for  joy,  since  the  cloud,  which 
had  for  so  long  overshadowed  the  sunshine  of  love, 
was  about  to  be  dissipated.  She  almost  danced  into 
Ankers'  small  garden. 

"Mr.  Lister  is  in  the  sitting-room  dear,"  said  that 
arch-plotter,  pushing  her  companion  into  the  cottage. 
"You'll  find  him  there.  I  have  to  go  to  the  chttrch  to 
run  over  the  evening  hymns." 

Miss  Huxham  knew  that  this  was  a  mere  excuse, 
but  loved  Dora  all  the  more  for  making  it.  Miss 
Ankers  was  much  too  romantic  to  mar  the  meeting  by 
presenting  herself  as  an  inconvenient  third  Therefore 
she  turned  away  laughing,  and  Bella,  anxious  to  lose 
no  moment  of  joy,  entered  the  small  sitting-room  with 
a  bright,  expectant  smile.  It  died  away  at  the  sight  of 
Lister's  sombre  face. 

The  young  man  was  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  with 
a  newspaper  lying  on  his  knees.  But  he  was  not  read- 
ing, as  his  eyes  were  fixed  darkly  on  the  door  through 
which  Bella  had  just  entered.  For  the  instant,  he  did 
not  appear  to  be  aware  of  her  presence;  then  he  rose 
gravely  and  bowed.  Even  in  the  midst  of  her  dismay 
at  this  reception,  Bella  was  woman  enough  to  note 
how  spruce,  and  trim,  and  singularly  handsome  he 
looked.  Certainly  his  face  was  grave  and  pale,  but 
beyond  this  she  could  not  see  the  dying  looks  which 
Dora  had  so  eloquently  described.  When  they  came 
face  to  face  an  embarrassing  silence  ensued.  Bella  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

"Are  you  not  pleased  to  see  me,  Cyril?"  she  faltered. 

"I  am  very  pleased,"  he  returned  gravely,  and 
pushed  forward  a  chair.     "Will  you  not  be  seated?" 

"Not  until  you  explain  why  you  receive  me  in  this 
way,"  she  declared  indignantly.  "You  send  for  me, 
and  I  come  at  once  only  to  find  displeased  looks." 

"Our  last  interview  explains  my  looks,  Bella." 

"No,  it  doesn't,"  she  cried,  up  in  arms  at  once;  "I 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  127 

admitted  my  fault  in  suspecting  you  then,  and  asked 
your  pardon.     You  left  me  without  a  kiss,  and — and 

"    She  stopped  with  an  angry  gesture.    "It  seems 

to  me  that 'I  am  the  one  who  has  the  right  to  be  dis- 
pleased." 

"No,"  said  Lister,  decidedly.  "I  love  you  very 
dearly,  as  you  know ;  but " 

"How  can  I  tell  that  you  love  me  dearly?" 

"My  desire  to  meet  you  again  shows  that  I  do, 
Many  a  man  would  have  left  you  for  ever  on  learning, 
as  I  did,  your  cruel  suspicions.  You  have  no  right  to 
be  displeased,  as  you  said  a  moment  since.  I  am  the 
wronged  person,  for  if  you  really  loved  me  you  would 
believe  nothing  against  me." 

"I  do  not;  I  do  not." 

"But  you  did." 

"Only  for  a  single  moment.  Oh !" — Bella  uttered  a 
cry  of  despair — "I  am  only  a  human  being,  and  I 
saw  you — as  I  thought — entering  the  house.  I  knew 
that  on  my  account  you  had  quarrelled  with  my  father, 
so  what  could  I  think  but  that  you  had  killed  him?  I 
don't  pretend  to  be  an  angel."  She  broke  off  and  sat 
down,  pressing  her  hands  hard  together,  then  looked 
up  with  feigned  self-control.  "We  discussed  all  this 
before,"  she  said  coldly,  "did  you  invite  me  here  to 
ask  me  to  defend  myself  again?" 

"No.  I  asked  you  here  to  learn  from  your  own  lips 
that  you  believe  me  to  be  guiltless." 

"I  do.  I  swear  I  do."  Bella  rose  in  her  excitement. 
"And  I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  wicked  suspicions." 

"Bella !"  He  sprang  forward  and  caught  her  hands 
within  his  own.    "Then  you  really  and  truly  love  me?" 

"If  you  had  gone  away,"  she  breathed  faintly  in  his 
ear,  "I  should  have  died." 

Cyril  drew  her  closely  to  his  breast.  "My  darling," 
he  whispered,  smoothing  her  hair,  "I  love  you  too 
dearly  to  leave  you.     I  ask  your  pardon  for  my  harsh 


j  28  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

words.  On  the  face  of  it,  I  don't  see  what  you  could 
do  but  suspect  me.  It  was  unreasonable  for  me  to 
ask  you  to  do  otherwise.  That  you  believe  my  mere 
word,  in  spite  of  the  strong  evidence  against  me, 
shows  that  you  love  me  as  dearly  and  strongly  as  I 
love  you.  So  far,  all  that  is  right.  We  trust  one 
another." 

"Wholly.  Entirely.  To  the  death  we  trust  one 
another." 

"That  is  well."  Cyril  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair, 
and  drew  Bella  on  to  his  knees.  "Unity  is  strength. 
With  you  by  my  side  I  am  not  afraid." 

"Then  you  have  been  afraid?"  she  asked  softly. 

"Of  losing  your  love — yes.  But  now  I  am  satisfied 
on  that  point,  there  is  another  thing  that  makes  me 
afraid." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  may  be  accused  of  this  murder.  Other  people 
may  have  seen  me,  as  you  saw  me,  dear." 

"Then  it  was  you?"  she  gasped. 

"No,  no!  I  have  explained  myself.  If  necessary, 
I  can  put  forward  an  alibi." 

"Who  was  the  man  then?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that."  Cyril  pushed  her  away,  and 
rose  much  agitated. 

"Then  you  know?"  Bella  stood  back  from  him 
doubtfully. 

"I  can't  be  sure.  I  think — that  is,  I  fancy — Bella, 
don't  ask  me  anything  just  now.  Later  I  may  be  able 
to  explain." 

"And  you  will  explain?" 

"If  it  be  possible.  Remember,  I  said  that  I  might 
be  able  to  explain,  but  of  this  I  cannot  be  certain." 

"I  do  not  understand,"  sighed  the  girl,  seating  her- 
self again.  "Cyril,  has  this  matter  anything  to  do  with 
you?" 

"The  matter  of  the  murder?" 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  (129 

"Yes.  I  don't  mean  to  ask  if  you  are  guilty,  as  I 
know  you  are  not.  But  are  you  connected  in  any  way 
with  the  matter?" 

"No,"  he  rejoined  promptly,  "if  I  were,  I  should 

be  an  accomplice  after  the  fact.     All  the  same " 

He  paused,  looking  paler  than  ever,  and  his  face 
became  peaked  and  haggard.  "Don't  ask  me  any- 
thing yet,"  he  murmured. 

"I  am  willing  to  trust  you,  dear,"  said  Bella  quietly, 
"but,  as  you  remarked  yourself  some  time  ago,  other 
people " 

He  interrupted  her.    "Other  people?" 

"Yes.     Some  one  else  did  see  you  on  that  evening." 

"The  person  saw  my  double,"  corrected  Cyril.  "I 
was  in  London,  as  I  told  you,  and  as  I  can  prove. 
Who  is  this  person?" 

"Silas  Pence." 

"Ah !"  Lister's  hands  clenched.  "He  hates  me  be- 
cause you  are  to  be  my  wife.  He  will  go  to  the 
police." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Bella  slowly.  "He  threat- 
ened to  go,  but  as  yet  he  has  held  his  tongue." 

"Why,  when  he  hates  me  so?" 

"I  think— I  think,"  said  Bella  slowly,  "that  Mr. 
Pence  knows  more  about  this  matter  than  he  choses 
to  admit." 

Cyril  uttered  an  exclamation.  "Do  you  suspect 
him?" 

"Not  of  the  murder,"  she  replied  promptly;  "he  is 
too  weak  and  timid  a  creature  to  commit  a  crime. 
But  I  know  that  he  was  poor;  now  he  is  unexpectedly 
rich,  and  we  are  aware,"  she  added  with  emphasis, 
that  one  hundred  pounds  was  stolen  from  my  father's 
safe  on  the  night  of  the  murder." 

"But  surely  you  do  not  connect  a  harmless  man, 
like  Pence,  with  the  crime?" 

"I  say  nothing,  because  I  know  nothing,  Cyril.    But 


.i3o  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

if  Mr.  Pence  is  entirely  innocent,  why  does  he  not 
accuse  you,  whom  he  hates." 

"He  has  no  grounds  to  go  upon,  dear." 

Bella  shook  her  head.  "He  thinks  that  he  has,"  she 
answered,  "as  he  believed  it  was  you  he  saw  when 
he  met  your  double  at  the  boundary  channel.  Since 
he  would  like  to  see  you  in  trouble,  the  very  fact  that 
he  delays  telling  the  police  shows  that  his  own  con- 
science is  not  easy." 

"It  is  strange,"  assented  Lister.  "However,  if  he 
does  accuse  me,  I  can  prove  an  alibi." 

"But  what  about  your  double?" 

The  young  man  turned  away  abruptly  to  the  win- 
dow.    "I  can  say  nothing  on  that  point  at  present." 

"When  will  you  explain  ?" 

"I  can't  say;  sooner  or  later."  Lister,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looked  out  of  the  window  as 
though  to  avoid  further  questioning.  This  behaviour 
puzzled  Bella,  as  she  felt  sure  that  Cyril  could  tell  her 
much  if  inclined  to  do  so.  But  it  was  odd  that  he 
should  so  decline.  She  abruptly  reverted  to  an  earlier 
thought  in  her  mind.  "You  did  not  tell  me  that  you 
had  a  negro  servant  called  Durgo." 

Lister  wheeled  sharply.  "I  have  no  servant,  negro 
or  otherwise,"  he  said  in  a  decisive  tone.  "Why  do 
you  say  that?" 

Bella,  wondering  still  more,  gave  him  details,  which 
Cyril  heard  with  a  perplexed  frown.  He  made  no 
comment  until  she  had  finished.  "You  say  that  this 
man  recognised  my  portrait.  In  that  case  I  can  guess" 
— he  did  not  finish  his  sentence,  but  became  paler  thai?, 
ever. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  RECOGNITION 

Bella  found  the  interviews  with  Cyril  eminently  un- 
satisfactory. It  was  perfectly  plain  that  he  entertained 
strong  suspicions  regarding  the  unknown  person  whom 
she  termed  his  double.  But  even  when  questioned 
point-blank  he  declined  to  explain  himself.  Yet  if 
Lister  knew  of  someone  who  resembled  him  more  on 
less  closely  he  surely  could  place  his  hand  on  that 
someone.  When  he  did  so  the  assassin  of  Captain 
Huxham  would  speedily  be  found.  This  being  the 
case  it  was  strange  that  Cyril  should  hesitate,  and  again 
and  again  Bella  questioned  him  bluntly,  only  to  find 
him  more  determined  than  ever  to  keep  his  own  coun- 
sel. Under  these  circumstances  it  was  useless  to  pro- 
long the  conversation,  and  the  girl  left  the  cottage 
feeling  extremely  despondent.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
the  problem  would  never  be  solved,  in  spite  of  the 
certainty  she  entertained  that  Cyril  could  solve  it  if  he 
so  wished. 

Nor  did  Bella  feel  any  brighter  when  she  returned 
to  the  Manor,  for  Mrs.  Coppersley  chose  to  take  um- 
brage at  her  niece's  absence.  Bella  declined  to  say 
where  she  had  been,  and  dismissed  the  matter  in  a  few 
cold  words.  Not  feeling  sure  of  her  ground,  Mrs. 
Coppersley  retreated  for  the  time  being,  but  next  day 
returned  to  the  attack  with  the  evident  object  of  mak- 
ing the  Manor-house  too  hot  for  the  girl.  Bella  was 
strong  enough  to  quell  open  mutiny  on  the  part  of 
her  aunt,  but  she  could  not  defend  herself  against 
incessant  nagging.     Since  the  death  of  her  brother, 


1132  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

Mrs.  Coppersley  had  become  as  bold  as  hitherto  she 
had  been  meek,  and  in  many  skilful  ways  contrived  to 
make  her  niece  feel  thoroughly  uncomfortable.  As 
Bella  had  quite  enough  to  bear  without  being  taxed 
further  with  these  petty  worries  she  became  restive, 
and  on  the  third  day  of  hostilities  demanded  what  her 
aunt  meant  by  behaving  so  aggressively.  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley, better  at  ambushes  than  in  open  warfare, 
would  have  shirked  the  battle,  but  Bella  forced  the 
quarrel  since  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  bring 
matters  to  a  head. 

:'You  never  leave  me  alone.  Aunt  Rosamund,"  she 
complained  wearily. 

''Because  you  are  a  drone,"  retorted  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley. "You  eat,  yet  you  do  not  work.  And  as  St. 
Paul  says " 

"I  don't  wish  to  hear  what  St.  Paul  says,  thank  you." 

"It  would  be  better  if  you  did.  I  have  your  good 
at  heart." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort;  you  merely  wish  to  get  rid 
of  me." 

Mrs.  Coppersley  grew  vividly  red,  but  did  not  make 
any  denial.  "Why  should  I  not?"  she  cried  loudly. 
"You  treat  me  as  though  I  were  dirt  under  your  feet, 
miss.  Who  are  you  to  behave  like  this,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?" 

"I  am  my  father's  daughter,"  said  Bella,  very 
distinctly,  "who  have  been  cheated  out  of  my  inheri- 
tance." 

"I'll  make  you  prove  those  words,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley, turning  from  scarlet  to  white.  "Go  and  see 
Mr.  Timson  in  Cade  Lane,  and  you  will  find  every- 
thing has  been  done  to  make  the  will  legal." 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  Aunt  Rosamund,  as  you 
are  too  clever  a  woman  to  risk  losing  your  spoil.  But 
you  have  cheated  me  by  inducing  my  father  to  dis- 
inherit me  in  your  favour." 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  133 

"I  did  not!  I  did  not!"  Mrs.  Coppersley  stamped 
wrathfully.  "Your  father  borrowed  money  from  me 
to  pay  for  the  farm  ten  years  ago.  I  lent  it  on  condi- 
tion that  I  inherited  Bleacres.  I  told  you  this  before, 
and " 

"That  will  do,"  interrupted  Bella  imperiously.  "I 
shall  see  Mr.  Timson,  and  learn  for  certain  if  what  you 
have  told  me  is  correct.  Meantime,  as  it  is  quite 
impossible  for  me  to  remain  in  the  house  with  you,  I 
shall  go  and  stay  with  Dora  Ankers." 

"She  won't  have  you,"  taunted  Mrs.   Coppersley. 

"I  have  already  arranged  to  live  with  her  until  I 
am  married." 

"Then  you  are  going  to  marry  that  wastrel  ?" 

"I  don't  know  who  you  mean." 

"Mr.  Lister,  the  man  who  was  so  hated  by  your 
father." 

"Whether  I  marry  Mr.  Lister  or  not  is  my  business," 
said  Bella,  drily;  "and  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  my 
father  had  no  reason  to  hate  him.  Do  you  know 
why  he  did  so,  Aunt  Rosamund?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley  reluctantly,  for  she 
would  have  dearly  liked  to  put  a  spoke  in  Bella's 
wheel,  as  the  saying  is.  "Jabez's  life  before  he  came 
here  was  not  known  to  me.  But  I  am  quite  sure  that 
it  was  shady,  and " 

Bella  interrupted  again.  "Leave  the  dead  alone. 
You  are  benefiting  by  my  father's  work,  whatever  it 
might  have  been,  and  have  no  call  to  abuse  him." 

"I  only  got  my  own  money  back,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
persley defiantly ;  "but  if  you  leave  my  house  you  leave 
it  for  ever.    I  wash  my  hands  of  you." 

"I  am  quite  content  that  it  should  be  so,"  said  Bella 
icily;  "but  I  can't  leave  my  home  penniless.  Give  me 
fifty  pounds  until  such  time  as  I  can  see  Mr.  Timson 
and  learn  how  I  stand." 

".What?"     Mrs.    Coppersley  became   shrill  in  her 


i34  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

anger.  "Give  you  money  to  bring  lawsuits  against 
me?" 

Bella  looked  at  her  very  directly.  "If  everything  is 
fair  and  square,  as  you  say,"  she  observed  severely, 
"there  is  no  danger  of  lawsuits.  Come,  Aunt  Rosa- 
mund, I  wish  to  leave  Bleacres  this  afternoon.  Give 
me  the  money." 

"No !"  shouted  the  older  woman,  and  sat  down  with 
folded  arms  and  a  dogged  expression.  "You  get  no 
money  from  me." 

Bella  was  perplexed.  She  could  not  use  violence, 
and  her  aunt  seemed  very  determined.  For  the  mo- 
ment she  was  nonplussed,  and  scarcely  knew  what  to 
say.  But  at  this  moment  Henry  Vand  entered.  The 
conversation  had  taken  place  in  the  study,  and  Vand 
came  into  the  room  from  the  hall.  Apparently  he 
had  just  entered  the  house.  In  fact,  he  explained  as 
much,  and  also  confessed  calmly  that  he  had  listened. 

"I  heard  your  voices  raised,"  he  said  quietly,  "and 
knowing  Rosamund's  violent  temper  I  waited,  so  that 
I  might  interfere  on  your  behalf,  Miss  Huxham." 

"I  want  no  interference,"  said  Mrs.  Coppersley 
jealousy.    "I  can  manage  my  own  business." 

"That  may  be,"  said  the  young  man  drily,  "but  you 
seem  to  forget  that  I  am  your  husband." 

"Husband!"  echoed  Bella  amazed. 

"Yes,"  said  Vand ;  while  Mrs.  Coppersley — or  rather 
Mrs.  Vand — looked  sullenly  at  the  floor.  "We  have 
been  married  for  three  months,  secretly." 

"Why  secretly?"  asked  Bella,  still  wondering  at  the 
news. 

"That's  our  business,"  said  her  aunt  insolently. 

"Pardon  me,  Rosamund,"  said  Vand,  who  was  as 
polite  as  his  wife  was  rude.  "It  is  only  fair  that  Miss 
Huxham  should  understand  the  position." 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  then,"  muttered  Mrs.  Vand, 
tossing  her  head,  "only  make  her  understand  that  I 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  135 

have  had  enough  of  her  airs  and  graces.  She  can  clear 
out  of  our  house  as  soon  as  she  likes,  and  leave  us  to 
ourselves." 

"She  is  willing  to  do  that  for  fifty  pounds,"  said 
Vand  politely. 

"I  shan't  give  her  that  amount." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Rosamund ;  you  will  give  Miss 
Huxham  a  cheque  for  one  hundred  pounds." 

"Are  you  out  of  your  senses?"  raged  his  wife,  start- 
ing to  her  feet. 

"I  don't  want  so  much  as  that,  Mr.  Vand,"  said 
Bella,  pleased  to  think  that  her  new  uncle  by  marriage 
was  taking  her  part. 

"It  is  a  mere  question  of  justice,  Miss  Huxham. 
My  wife  has  inherited  the  Solitary  Farm,  so  it  is  only 
right  that  she  should  recompense  you." 

"Mind,"  said  Bella,  suddenly,  and  thinking  that  this 
might  be  a  bribe,  "if  I  find  anything  wrong  when  I  see 
Mr.  Timson  I  shall  bring  an  action." 

"I  told  you  so,  Henry,"  remarked  Mrs.  Vand 
triumphantly. 

"I  have  seen  the  will  and  the  lawyer,"  said  the  man 
quietly,  "and  everything  is  correct.  There  is  no  flaw. 
With  regard  to  my  marriage,  Miss  Huxham,  I  agreed 
to  a  secret  ceremony  since  your  late  father  was  opposed 
to  my  courtship  of  your  aunt.  But  the  time  has  now 
come  to  proclaim  the  marriage,  so  I  have  brought  my 
luggage  here  to-day." 

"And  that  is  why  my  aunt  wishes  me  to  leave  the 
house,"  said  Bella,  with  a  curling  lip. 

Vand,  who  was  much  the  most  self-controlled  of  the 
trio,  looked  at  her  very  straightly.  "You  can  come 
or  stay  as  you  please,"  he  said  gently.  "I  am  quite 
willing  that  you  should  remain." 

"Oh,"  cried  Mrs.  Vand  furiously,  "so  you  want  her 
to  remain.  Perhaps  you  are  in  love  with  her ;  perhaps 
you  would  like  to " 


ii36  THE   SOLITARY  FARM 


« 


'Aunt,"  interrupted  Bella,  blushing  with  annoyance, 
"how  can  you  talk  so  foolishly.  Mr.  Vand  loves  you, 
or  he  would  not  have  married  you.  As  for  me,  I  am 
going  away  to  Dora's  as  soon  as  you  give  me  the 
money." 

"Not  one  penny." 

Vand  gazed  steadily  at  the  furious  woman.  In  spite 
of  his  club  foot  he  was  certainly  handsome,  and  looked 
as  refined  as  his  wife  looked  coarse.  He  must  have 
had  good  blood  in  his  veins  in  spite  of  his  lowly  birth, 
and,  without  appearing  to  do  so,  managed,  on  this 
occasion  at  least,  to  dominate  the  more  animal  nature. 
Bella  neither  liked  nor  disliked  the  cripple,  but  she 
could  not  help  admiring  the  skilful  way  in  which  he 
mastered  her  aunt.  Perhaps  he  magnetised  her  with 
his  large  blue  eyes  or  the  calmness  of  his  manner  may 
have  had  a  soothing  effect.  But,  whatever  was  the 
cause,  Mrs.  Vand  winced  under  his  silent  gaze  and 
lowered  her  voice,  as  she  consented  unexpectedly  to 
do  what  he  suggested.  "I  shall  give  Bella  a  cheque 
for  one  hundred  pounds  on  condition  that  she  does  not 
trouble  me  again,"  she  grumbled,  going  to  the  desk 
with  an  affectation  of  generosity. 

"You  seem  to  hate  me  so  much  that  there  is  no 
need  for  me  to  see  you  any  more,"  said  Bella 
bitterly. 

"But  I  warn  you  that  if  the  will  is  not  right  I  shall 
take  steps  to  recover  the  farm,  which  I  look  upon  as 
my  property." 

"It  is  not  your  property,  it  is  mine;  and  Jabez's 
income  also,"  said  Mrs.  Vand,  looking  up  from  the 
cheque  she  was  writing,  "and  if  you  don't  promise  to 
leave  things  alone  you  shan't  have  the  money." 

"I  refuse  to  sell  my  heritage  for  a  mess  of  potage," 
cried  Bella,  impetuously. 

"There  is  no  need  that  you  should,"  interposed  Vand 
gently.    "Rosamund,  sign  the  cheque." 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  137 

Mrs.  Vand  scowled,  hesitated,  but  finally  did  as  she 
was  ordered,  throwing  it  on  the  floor  afterwards  in 
silent  fury.  Her  husband  picked  it  up  and  handed  it, 
with  a  bow,  to  Bella. 

"There  you  are,  Miss  Huxham,"  he  said  with 
marked  courtesy.  "I  hope  you  will  be  happy  at  Miss 
Ankers'.  So  far  as  I  am  aware,  everything  has  been 
left  to  my  wife,  but  later  I  shall  endeavour  to  make 
some  arrangement  with  Rosamund  by  which  you  will 
be  benefited.  And  I  beg  of  you  not  to  leave  this  house 
in  anger." 

"I  shall  make  no  arrangement,  now  or  hereafter," 
cried  Mrs.  Vand.  "Bella  has  received  all  that  she  will 
receive.  For  my  part,  I'm  glad  to  see  the  back  of  her," 
and  with  a  red  face  and  a  scornful  look  she  flounced 
out  of  the  room,  much  to  the  girl's  relief. 

"I  wonder  why  my  aunt  hates  me  so?"  she  asked 
Vand  with  a  piteous  look.  "I  have  never  done  her 
any  harm." 

"She  only  gives  way  to  her  temper,  Miss  Huxham," 
said  the  cripple  soothingly,  "and  doesn't  mean  half  she 
says.  Don't  trouble  any  more  about  Rosamund.  I 
am  your  friend.    You  will  shake  hands,  will  you  not?" 

Bella  did  not  hesitate  to  take  the  hand  extended  to 
her,  as  she  admitted  silently  that  if  Vand  had  not 
interposed  she  would  not  have  received  the  money. 
Besides,  her  new  relative  throughout  had  proved  him- 
self to  be  so  courteous  and  thoughtful  that  she  had 
no  reason  to  mistrust  him.  Howsoever  Mrs.  Vand  had 
become  possessed  of  the  farm  and  income  of  the  late 
Captain  Huxham,  her  husband  was  at  least  innocent. 
"But  I  do  not  bind  myself  to  take  no  steps  if  necessary 
to  recover  Bleacres,"  Bella  warned  the  young  man,  as 
she  shook  his  hand.     "You  understand  that?" 

"Perfectly;  and  indeed,  if  Rosamund  has  come 
wrongfully  by  the  estate  she  must  surrender  it.  Still, 
Miss  Huxham,  you  cannot  expect  me  to  doubt  my 


138  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

own   wife,    especially   as   Rosamund   has   been   good 
enough  to  marry  a  cripple  such  as  I  am." 

"I  think,  without  flattery  to  you,"  said  Bella,  walk- 
ing towards  the  door,  "that  my  aunt  has  got  the  best 
of  the  bargain,"  and  the  last  thing  she  saw  when  throw- 
ing a  glance  over  her  shoulder  was  Vand  blushing 
crimson  at  the  unusual  compliment.  But  Bella  meant 
what  she  said,  as  even  ease  and  wealth  were  hardly 
purchased  by  marriage  with  a  furious,  coarse-natured 
woman  such  as  Rosamund  Vand.  The  girl  wondered 
how  she  had  ever  come  to  have  such  an  aunt ;  she  might 
have  wondered  also  how  she  ever  came  to  have  a 
parent  so  common  and  ruffianly  as  her  late  father  had 
been. 

That  same  afternoon  Bella  packed  all  her  belongings 
and  had  them  carried  by  Tunks  to  the  hither  side  of 
the  boundary  channel.  There  they  were  placed  on  a 
hand-cart  and  wheeled  to  Miss  Ankers'  cottage.  Mrs. 
Vand  discreetly  kept  out  of  the  way  when  Bella  de- 
parted, or  perhaps  her  husband  insisted  that  she  should 
not  drive  forth  the  girl  with  insults,  as  she  certainly 
would  have  done.  At  all  events  she  remained  invisible, 
and  it  was  Vand  alone  who  said  good-bye  to  the  home- 
less girl.  Bella  felt  a  pang  when  she  looked  back  along 
the  narrow  path  of  the  corn-fields  to  see  a  stranger 
standing  in  the  door-way.  She  was  certain  of  one 
thing — that  Mrs.  Vand  had  found  a  master,  and  that 
for  all  his  quietness  and  polite  ways  her  husband  would 
not  allow  her  to  have  her  own  way  as  she  had  hitherto 
done.  Doubtless  her  aunt  had  deemed  Vand  would  be 
as  harmless  and  innocuous  as  the  scarlet-coated  scare- 
crow, of  which  Bella  caught  a  last  glimpse ;  but  there 
was  no  doubt  in  the  girl's  mind  as  to  which  of  the 
happy  pair  would  rule  the  house.  Mrs.  Vand's  coarse 
bullying  could  do  very  little  against  the  quiet  per- 
sistence of  a  polite  man,  who  was  determined  to  govern. 
So  far  as  Bella  knew  from  Huxham,  her  aunt  had 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  139 

ruled  her  first  husband  with  a  rod  of  iron;  now  she 
was  about  to  be  governed  in  her  turn.  "And  much 
good  may  it  do  her,"  thought  Bella,  who  was  much 
too  human  to  be  forgiving. 

Dora  was  delighted  that  her  best  friend  should 
board  with  her,  and  received  Miss  Huxham  with  open 
arms.  After  tea,  the  two  arranged  Bella's  bedroom 
to  their  satisfaction  and  unpacked  her  boxes.  Then 
they  had  a  talk  as  to  the  advisability  of  going  to  Cade 
Lane  for  the  purpose  of  questioning  Mr.  Timson  re- 
garding the  will.  "You  should  attend  to  the  matter  at 
once,  my  dear,"  said  Dora,  who  was  extremely  practi- 
cal for  all  her  doll-like  looks.  "Lose  no  time,  for  I 
am  certain  that  your  aunt  has  employed  some  trickery 
in  getting  possession  of  the  property." 

"I  shall  consult  Cyril  first,"  said  Bella  wearily,  and 
little  more  was  said  on  that  night,  as  the  girl  was 
quite  worn  out  with  the  events  of  the  day. 

Next  morning  Miss  Ankers  had  to  teach  in  school 
as  usual,  and  Bella  was  left  to  her  own  devices.  She 
assisted  Dora's  small  servant  to  tidy  the  rooms  and 
make  the  beds,  after  which  she  put  on  her  hat  and 
walked  into  the  village  to  make  some  small  purchases. 
Also — and  this  was  by  Dora's  advice — she  saw  the 
manager  of  the  small  local  bank,  and  opened  an 
account  with  him  by  paying  in  her  aunt's  cheque  for 
one  hundred  pounds.  The  manager  courteously 
promised  to  send  the  cheque  to  London,  and  to  notify 
Bella  when  it  was  honoured.  Miss  Huxham  was 
somewhat  relieved  at  this  promise,  as  she  did  not 
trust  her  aunt,  and  knew  that  she  was  quite  capable 
of  stopping  the  cheque,  especially  when  she  had  not 
given  it  with  a  good  grace.  But  Bella  need  not  have 
troubled  her  head ;  the  cheque  was  duly  honoured,  as 
Mr.  Henry  Vand  saw  to  that. 

Having  dispatched  her  business,  Bella  strolled  out 
of  the  village,  and  found  herself  on  the  common.    This 


ii4o  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

was  a  vast  expanse  overgrown  with  gorse  and  broom, 
and  with  a  miniature  forest  of  saplings  springing 
from  an  undergrowth  of  fern  and  bracken.  Through 
this  fairy  wood,  as  some  people  called  it,  narrow  paths 
were  cut,  so  that  one  could  wander  for  hours  in  and 
out  of  a  kind  of  natural  labyrinth.  The  saplings  were 
scarcely  six  feet  in  height,  so  that  an  extra  tall  man 
could  look  over  the  green  sea  of  vegetation.  Bella 
loved  this  place,  as  she  had  often  sauntered  therein 
with  Dora,  and  indeed  with  Cyril  also.  The  wonder- 
ful tangle  of  fern  and  bracken  and  many-hued  grasses, 
the  brilliant  colouring  of  flowers,  and  the  focund 
blossoming  of #  the  golden  broom,  made  the  common 
a  home  of  delight.  Bella  walked  meditatively 
through  the  cool  green  paths,  and  emerged  at  inter- 
vals on  to  wide,  waste  spaces  where  the  purple  heather 
grew  thickly.  Butterflies  floated  through  the  still  air, 
bumble-bees  visited  the  flowers,  and  the  birds  sang  as 
in  an  enchanted  garden.  Bella  stopped  to  hear  the 
silvery  carol  of  an  invisible  lark,  for  the  bird,  raining 
its  music  lavishly  from  the  sky,  Was  quite  hidden  by 
the  dazzle  of  sunshine.  As  she  paused,  she  felt  a 
light  hand  touch  her  shoulder,  and  turned  with  a 
glad  cry. 

"Oh,  Cyril,  how  you  startled  me!"  she  said,  pleased 
with  the  unexpected  encounter.  "I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you,  dear.    Have  you  heard " 

Lister  threw  himself  contentedly  on  the  fragrant 
heather,  and  drew  Bella  down  by  his  side.  "I  have 
heard,  and  I  am  very  angry,"  he  said  hotly.  "Dear, 
what  does  your  aunt  mean  by  treating  you  in  this 
way?" 

Bella  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  expect  she  wants 
the  Manor  to  herself  now  that  she  is  married.  Who 
told  you?" 

"Miss  Ankers.  I  met  her  coming  out  of  school. 
She  told  me  that  you  were  returning  to  dinner,  so  I 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  141 

came  to  fetch  you.  I  guessed  that  I  should  find  you 
here,  and  so "  he  waved  his  hand  lazily. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Bella  again,  "but  you 
looi:  ill,  dear." 

Cyril  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  am  worried 
about  this  mysterious  double  of  mine,"  he  muttered, 
and  lying  full  length  on  the  burnt  grass  he  tilted  his 
hat  over  his  eyes.  He  did  indeed  look  ill,  for  his 
face  was  very  pale  and  lines  appeared  on  his  forehead 
which  should  not  have  been  there  at  his  age.  In 
some  extraordinary  way  he  seemed  to  have  aged,  as  it 
were,  in  a  moment.  "I  am  very  much  worried,"  he 
sighed;  everything  is  going  wrong.  Now^  this 
abominable  treatment  to  which  your  aunt  has  subjected 
you  to  makes  things  doubly  difficult  for  me." 

"In  what  way?"  asked  Bella,  sitting  up  and  hugging 
her  knees. 

"I  don't  know  how  to  move,"  explained  the  young 
man.  "While  you  were  safe  at  Bleacres  with  your 
aunt  I  could  wait.  But  now  that  you  have  no  home, 
I  should  like  to  marry  you  at  once."  He  sighed  again. 
"But  that  is  impossible,  dear,  owing  to  circumstances." 

"You  need  not  trouble  about  me,"  said  Bella 
promptly.  "I  have  got  one  hundred  pounds,  and  I 
am  quite  glad  to  be  away  from  Aunt  Rosamund's 
incessant  nagging.  I  can  live  with  Dora  and  pay  my 
way  until  such  time  as  you  can  marry  me." 

"Heaven  only  knows  when  I  can  marry  you!" 
groaned  Cyril  dismally. 

"I  can  tell  you,"  said  Bella,  removing  the  hat  from 
his  anxious  face  in  order  to  look  into  his  eyes;  "as 
soon  as  you  are  frank  with  me." 

"I  have  come  to  be  frank  with  you,'*  said  Lister 
reluctantly. 

"It  sounds  like  it." 

"My  dear" — he  sat  up  to  speak  more  forcibly — 
when  I  am  frank  you  will  be  as  unhappy  as  I  am." 


a 


B42  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Mean?  I  scarcely  know  what  I  mean — that  is,  I 
scarcely  dare  put  my  thoughts  into  words.  Of  course, 
I  may  be  wrong.  I  sincerely  trust  that  I  am  wrong. 
All  the  same,  there  is  no  denying  that  I  have  grave 
grounds  for  my  belief." 

"What  belief?"  Bella  asked  the  question  in  scared 
tones,  as  Cyril  looked  so  wretched. 

He  did  not  reply  at  once,  but  moved  restlessly 
about,  evidently  bracing  himself  to  speak  plainly. 
Even  when  he  did  open  his  mouth  he  was  evasive. 
"I  have  an  idea  that  my  double — that  is,  the  man 
who  was  mistaken  by  you  and  Pence  for  me  on  that 
night — might  be — oh!" — he  rested  his  head  between 
his  hands  with  a  groan —  "I  dare  not  tell  you  who 
he  might  be." 

"You  have  some  idea?" 

"Yes;  I  wish  I  hadn't." 

"Is  it  anyone  I  know  ?" 

"No." 

"Is  it " 

"Oh,  my  dear!  don't  ask  questions  which  I  dare 
not  answer." 

"You  must  answer,"  said  Bella  firmly.  "I  must 
share  your  griefs  as  well  as  sorrows.  Tell  me  every- 
thing.   "Go  on,  Cyril,  tell  me  quickly!" 

"Hush!"  Lister  started  to  his  feet  with  an  alarmed 
look.  "What's  that  ?  I  swear  that  I  heard  a  rustling 
in  the  underwood.  Someone  is  listening."  He  glanced 
around  anxiously,  looking  pale  and  nervous.  Bella 
rose  at  the  same  time  and  caught  his  hand  to  give 
him  courage,  although  she  could  not  understand  what 
he  meant  by  his  words  and  looks. 

But  the  two  had  not  to  wait  long.  A  distant  crack- 
ling was  heard,  and  in  a  moment  or  so  a  tall  bulky  man 
stepped  from  out  the  underwood. 

"Durgo!"  breathed  Bella,  recognising  the  negro. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  ,143 

He  ran  towards  Cyril  and  dropped  on  his  knees. 
"My  master!"  he  cried;  then  leaped  up.  "You  are 
not  Edwin  Lister,"  he  growled  with  widely  open  eyes. 

"My  father!  my  father!"  groaned  Cyril  in  despair. 
"I  knew  it;  I  was  certain  of  it.  Now  I  know  the 
worst,"  and  he  sat  down  to  hide  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XII 

cyril's  story 

Bella  looked  from  the  astonished  Durgo  to  the 
despairing  Lister,  and  wondered  what  the  scene  meant. 
That  the  matter  at  issue  was  serious  Cyril's 
demeanour  gave  her  fully  to  understand.  But  what 
the  matter  might  be  she  could  not  guess,  save  that  it 
had  something  to  do  with  this  mysterious  double  who 
had  caused  all  the  commotion.  The  negro  appeared 
to  be  as  puzzled  as  herself,  and  stared  at  the  seated 
figure  with  an  open  mouth,  scratching  his  woolly  head 
meanwhile. 

"Not  my  master,  but  like  my  master,"  he  muttered, 
staring  hard,  and  speaking  in  his  usual  guttural  man- 
ner but  not  in  the  usual  negro  dialect,  so  rude  and 
clipped.  "If  you're  not  my  master,  Edwin  Lister," 
he  added,  addressing  himself  to  the  young  man,  "who 
are  you,  sir?" 

"Answer  him,  Cyril,"  said  Bella,  seeing  that  her 
lover  did  not  speak.  "Did  you  ever  see  this  man 
before?" 

Lister  looked  up,  pale  and  hollow-eyed.  "Never," 
he  said  briefly. 

"Did  you  ever  meet  Mr.  Lister  before?"  Bella 
asked  the  negro. 

"Lister!  Lister!"  gasped  Durgo,  retreating  a  step. 
"Is  this  young  gentleman  called  Lister?" 

"Cyril  Lister,"  said  that  young  man. 

"But  my  master  had  no  son." 

"I  am  his  son.    Edwin  Lister  is  my  father." 

"Oh!"     A  sudden  light  broke  over    Bella's   face, 


THE   SOLITARY  FARM  145 

and  she  clapped  her  hands.     "And  your  double?" 

"Yes,"  said  Cyril  in  low  tones ;  "now  you  can  guess 
how  afraid  I  was  to  lay  my  suspicions  before  you." 

"No,"  she  said  boldly.  "Why  you  should  be  afraid 
I  cannot  guess." 

Cyril  rose  slowly,  laid  two  heavy  hands  on  her 
shoulders  and  looked  directly  into  her  eyes.  "My 
dear,"  he  said  in  a  hard  voice,  "can  you  not  under- 
stand that  this  double  was  my  father,  who  resembled 
me  so  closely  that  this  man" — he  jerked  back  his 
head  towards  the  still  staring  negro — "mistook  me 
for  him." 

"Well,"  said  Bella,  inquiringly. 

"Well,"  repeated  Lister,  impatiently,  "You  thought 
that  I  had  committed  the  murder,  but  now  that  you 
know  the  truth " 

Bella  shook  herself  free  and  grew  pale.  "It  was 
your  father  who  struck  the  blow!"  she  said  in  a  low, 
horrified  tone. 

"Yes.  And  if  my  father  killed  your  father,  how  can 
we  marry?" 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  the  unfortunate  lov- 
ers looked  at  one  another  with  white  faces.  If  Cyril's 
surmise  was  true,  a  barrier  had  indeed  been  placed  be- 
tween them,  and  for  the  moment  they  saw  no  chance 
of  over-leaping  it.  Quite  oblivious  of  Durgo,  they 
stared  until  the  black  man  grew  impatient  of  the 
silence. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  growled,  looking  from 
one  to  the  other.  "I  come  to  find  my  master,  Edwin 
Lister,  and  he  is  not  here.  But  I  find  one  who  calls 
himself  the  son  of  my  master,  Edwin  Lister."  He 
peered  into  Cyril's  face.  "My  master  never  told  me 
that  he  had  a  son,  and  yet"— he  looked  again— "I  be- 
lieve that  you  are  my  master's  son." 

"Am  I  so  like  my  father,  then?"  asked  Cyril  smil- 
ing faintly. 


146  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

Durgo  struck  his  huge  hands  together.  "The  same 
in  every  way,"  he  said  firmly;  "figure  and  face  and 
colour  and  walk.  Even  the  clothes" — he  ran  his  eyes 
over  Cyril's  grey  suit — "yes,  even  the  clothes." 

"Oh!"  It  was  Bella  who  spoke.  "Cyril,  do  you 
remember  that  the  grey  clothes  worn  by  your  father 
on  that  night  aided  me  to  make  a  mistake?" 

Lister  nodded.  "That  was  a  suit  of  mine,"  he  said, 
"made  for  me.  When  my  father  came  home  from 
Nigeria  he  had  no  ready-made  clothes,  so  he  borrowed 
that  suit  until  he  could  get  fitted  out  in  civilised  gar- 
ments.   Well?" 

Cyril  addressed  this  last  question  to  Durgo,  who  had 
started  violently  when  Nigeria  was  mentioned. 
"I  am  a  Nigerian,"  he  said  in  reply  to  the  inquiry. 
"I  was  with  your  father  at  Ogrude,  on  the  Cross  River, 
for  years.  I  came  with  him  to  London  three  months 
ago ;  but  my  master  never  said  that  he  had  a  son." 

"He  had  his  reasons  for  keeping  silence,  no  doubt," 
said  Cyril  quietly;  "but  I  never  saw  you,  Durgo,  nor 
did  I  hear  my  father  mention  you." 

"Yet  you  know  my  name,"  said  the  man  suspi- 
ciously. 

"Only  because  Miss  Huxham  mentioned  it  when 
you  appeared  just  now." 

"And  I  mentioned  it  to  you  before,"  Bella  reminded 
him.  "I  told  you  how  Durgo  entered  the  Bleacres 
drawing-room  and  took  your  photograph,  frame  and 
all,  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  girl. 

"I  thought  that  it  was  one  of  my  master,  Edwin 
Lister,  taken  when  he  was  younger,"  he  said  simply, 
-but  I  see " 

"Yes!  yes!"  broke  in  Cyril  impatiently.  "I  know 
what  you  see.    I  am  a  younger  edition  of  my  father." 

"Yes!  yes!  yes!"  cried  Durgo,  staring  again. 
"Never  did  I  see  two  so  alike." 

Bella  glanced  at  the  photograph  and  slipped  it  into 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  147 

her  pocket.  Her  face  was  pearly  white,  and  she 
dreaded  the  full  explanation  of  what  was  to  come. 
"We  are  still  perplexed,"  she  said  quietly,  and  con- 
trolling herself  with  great  difficulty.  "You  know 
nothing  of  Durgo,  and  he  knows  nothing  of  you.  I 
think  it  will  be  best  for  us  to  sit  down  and  discuss  the 
matter  quietly." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Cyril,  dropping  down 
promptly.  "Durgo,  tell  your  story  and  then  I  shall 
tell  mine.  When  we  each  know  what  the  other  knows, 
we  may  be  able  to  arrive  at  some  conclusion." 

"Regarding  the  murder,"  said  Bella.  "Perhaps," 
she  added  hopefully,  "perhaps  your  father  did  not  kill 
mine  after  all." 

"I  fear  he  did,"  said  Cyril  heavily.  "Remember 
what  was  said  at  the  inquest  about  the  West  African 
knife  with  which  the  crime  was  committed.  Nigeria 
is  in  West  Africa." 

"My  master  had  no  knife  of  that  sort,"  said  Durgo 
bluntly. 

"Have  you  a  description  of  the  knife,"  asked 
Bella. 

"I  read  it  in  the  newspapers,"  said  the  negro. 
"When  you  told  me  of  your  father's  death,  I  read  the 
papers." 

"You  can  read." 

"I  can  read  and  write  and  do  many  things,"  said 
Durgo  quietly.  "I  have  a  black  skin,  but  my  educa- 
tion has  not  been  neglected." 

"So  I  should  think  from  the  way  in  which  you 
speak  English." 

"The  missionaries  taught  me  much,  and  Edwin 
Lister  taught  me  the  rest." 

Cyril  frowned.  "I  notice  that  you  do  not  say  'Mis- 
ter' when  you  speak  of  my  father,"  he  said  pointedly. 

"I  am  a  chief  and  the  son  of  a  chief,"  said  Durgo 
proudly.     "And  for  love  of  your  father,  who  saved 


,i48  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

my  life,  I  left  my  tribe  and  came  with  him.  I  called 
him  master  as  a  title  of  honour  because  I  loved  him, 
so  why  should  I  not  say  Edwin  Lister?" 

"Cyril,  with  the  white  man's  inborn  superiority,  ob- 
jected to  this  familiarity,  and,  but  that  Durgo's  ser- 
vices were  necessary  to  the  unravelling  of  the  mystery, 
would  have  pointed  this  out.  As  it  was,  he  simply 
nodded  and  asked  the  black  man  to  be  more  explicit. 
Durgo  sat  down  and  complied  without  any  argument. 
His  manners  for  a  negro  were  singularly  good. 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell,"  he  said  in  his  guttural 
tones.  "Edwin  Lister  was  my  friend  and  a  trader  in 
Nigeria,  my  country.  He  saved  my  life  from  a  lion 
and  won  my  gratitude.  I  helped  him  with  his  trad- 
ing and  left  my  tribe  to  do  so.  We  heard  of  a  treasure 
in  the  wilds  of  my  country,  and  wished  to  fit  out  an  ex- 
pedition to  find  that  treasure.  Edwin  Lister  did,  that 
is,  and  I  was  glad  to  do  as  he  desired.  But  we  re- 
quired money,  and  it  could  not  be  had.  Edwin  Lister 
then  thought  of  an  old  friend  of  his,  Captain  Hux- 
ham,  who  had  also  been  in  Nigeria " 

"My  father!"  cried  Bella,  startled. 

"Yes,  missy,"  said  Durgo,  bending  his  head  to- 
wards her  with  grave  respect.  "He  was  well  known 
in  Nigeria  many  years  ago,  as  he  had  a  river  steamer 
there.  Edwin  Lister  then  came  to  London  with 
me,  and  afterwards  came  to  see  Captain  Hux- 
ham  here.  That  was  some  weeks  ago,  and  he  promised 
me  to  return.  As  he  did  not,  I  came  down  and  then 
heard  of  the  murder  of  Captain  Huxham.  But  where 
is  my  master,  Edwin  Lister?"  and  Durgo  looked  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"Have  you  not  seen  him  since?"  asked  Cyril 
anxiously. 

"No."     Durgo  shook  his  head  profoundly. 

"What  do  you  think  has  become  of  him?"  asked 
Cyril,  still  white. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  149 

Durgo  reflected.  "I  think,"  he  said  gravely,  "that 
Edwin  Lister  killed  Captain  Huxham  and  ran  away. 
Soon  he  will  write  to  me  and  I  can  join  him.  Then 
we  can  return  to  Nigeria  and  hunt  for  the  treasure." 
"But  why  should  Mr.  Lister  kill  my  father?"  asked 
Bella. 

"He  wanted  money,"  said  Durgo  simply.  "If 
Captain  Huxham  would  not  give  the  money,  Edwin 
Lister  would  kill  him.  It  is  quite  simple.  But  I 
wish,"  added  the  negro  wisely,  "that  my  master  had 
let  me  kill  Captain  Huxham." 

"Would  you  have  done  so?"  cried  Bella,  horrified. 
Durgo  looked  up  in  surprise.     "Oh,  yes,  if  Edwin 
Lister  had  wished  it." 

Cyril  and  the  girl  looked  at  one  another.  Durgo 
was  still  a  savage,  in  spite  of  the  veneer  of  education 
and  civilisation,  which  the  missionaries  had  given  him. 
He  would  have  killed  Huxham  as  easily  as  he  would 
have  killed  a  fly.  Perhaps  also  Edwin  Lister  had 
become  de-civilised,  and  had  acted  in  the  same 
way. 

"But  what  has  become  of  my  father?*'  asked  Cyril. 

"You  do  not  know?"  inquired  Durgo  politely. 

Cyril  shook  his  head.     "I  do  not  know,"  he  said 

gloomily,  "unless,  as  you  say,  he  murdered  Huxham 

to  get  money,  and  then  ran  away  into  hiding.     He 

may  be  on  the  Continent — in  Paris." 

"In  that  case,  I  shall  hear  from  him  soon,"  said 

Durgo,  rising.     "When  I  do,  I  shall  let  you  know." 

"Come  back,"  said  Cyril,  in  an  even  tone,  as  Durgo 

was  about  to  stalk  away,  "it  is  necessary  for  me  to 

have  your  assistance." 

"In  what?"  asked  Durgo,  looking  over  his  huge 
shoulder. 

"In  finding  my  father." 
"But  if  he  is  in  Paris,  I  can  go  there." 
'Have  vou  the  money?" 


«i 


150  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

"I  have  plenty  of  money,"  said  the  negro  with 
gravity.  "I  have  my  own  money,  so  it  is  easy  for 
me  to  search  for  my  master." 

"He  may  not  be  in  Paris,"  said  Cyril  hastily;  "that 
is  only  a  guess  on  my  part.  Before  searching  for  him 
over  there,  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  assist  me  in  look- 
ing for  him  in  this  district.  He  may  be  in  hid- 
ing. 

Durgo  pondered,  then  returned  to  lie  full-length 
on  the  grass.  "I  think  that  my  master  would  have 
run  further  away  after  killing  Captain  Huxham,"  he 
said  reflectively;  "he  is  very  cunning,  is  Edwin  Lister. 
And,  of  course,  he  would  have  the  money?" 

"What  money?"  asked  Bella  impatiently. 

"The  money  for  which  he  killed  Captain 
Huxham." 

"The  sum  stolen  was  only  worth  a  trifle :  one  hun- 
dred pounds  is  the  amount." 

"Oh!"  Durgo  opened  his  eyes.  "And  my 
master  wanted  five  thousand.  It  is  a  very  difficult 
expedition  right  into  the  centre  of  Nigeria,  and  one 
hundred  pounds  is  of  no  use.  I  could  have  lent 
that  amount  to  Edwin  Lister  myself.  Hai!" —  he 
nursed  his  chin  in  his  hand — "what  you  say,  missy, 
makes  me  think  that  my  master  is  waiting  here  to  get 
the  money  for  which  he  killed  Captain  Huxham." 

"My  aunt,  Mrs.  Rosamund  Vand,  has  both  the 
money  and  the  estate." 

"Then  Edwin  Lister  will  wait  and  see  her,"  said 
Durgo  gravely.  "I  must  learn  where  he  is  hiding," 
and  he  half  rose  again. 

Cyril  put  out  one  slim  hand  to  prevent  him.  "Wait 
for  one  moment,"  he  said  quietly,  "you  must  hear 
what  I  have  to  say,  and  then  we  can  arrange  what  to 
do.    Durgo,  you  loved  my  father?" 

The  negro  nodded.  "I  would  rather  lose  my  life 
than  see  him  dead." 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  151 

Cyril  looked  at  him  curiously.  "Strange!  I  did 
not  think  that  my  father  was  a  man  to  inspire  such 
devotion." 

"He  saved  my  life,"  said  Durgo  impressively. 

"Humph !"  murmured  Cyril  under  his  breath.  "I'll 
be  bound  if  he  did  so,  that  he  took  back  the  full  value 
of  his  heroic  act." 

Bella  looked  pained.  "Cyril,  why  do  you  speak 
in  that  tone  of  your  father?" 

"Because  I  know  him  better  than  Durgo,"  he 
retorted.  "My  father  is  a — but  that  is  neither  here 
nor  there" — he  waved  his  hand  impatiently.  "Durgo, 
I  am  about  to  speak  plainly.  I  see  that  you  love  my 
father,  so  I  don't  wish  to  hurt  your  feelings.  All  the 
same,  I  must  tell  you  something  about  my  father  which 
you  will  not  like." 

"Let  me  hear,"  said  Durgo  frowning,  "and  I  can 
judge.    But  you  are  his  son " 

"And  therefore  should  speak  well  of  him,"  ended 
Cyril  bitterly.  "I  wish  I  could,  but  I  have  suffered 
too  much  at  my  father's  hands  to  have  any  love  for 
him.    However,  I  shall  be  as  brief  as  possible." 

"And  as  kind,"  said  Durgo  meaningly. 

"And  as  kind  as  I  can  be,"  retorted  the  young  man 
cynically ;  although  my  father  will  be  the  first  to  laugh 
at  the  idea  of  my  talking  kindly  of  him." 
He  loves  you,"  said  the  negro  rebukingly. 
Did  he  ever  tell  you  that?" 
No.    He  never  mentioned  your  existence." 

"Judge  then  how  he  loves  me,"  said  Cyril 
coolly. 

"However,  in  spite  of  all,  Edwin  Lister  is  my 
father,  so  I  shall  speak  as  respectfully  of  him  as  I 
possibly  can."  He  threw  away  a  blade  of  grass  he 
was  chewing,  and  laughed  ironically.  Bella  looked 
pained. 

"Cyril!  Cyril!  your  own  father!" 


"] 


H52  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

"Quite  so,  dear.  He  is  my  father.  I  can  say  no 
more,  and  no  less.  As  to  what  I  know  relative  to 
this  mystery,  you  shall  hear." 

The  sky  had  clouded  over,  and  the  sun  no  longer 
shone.  The  lark  was  silent,  and  a  chill  wind  seemed 
to  breathe  over  the  golden  broom  and  the  yellow 
blossoms  of  the  gorze.  Bella  shivered,  as  the  change 
of  temperature  seemed  to  suit  with  cruel  exactitude 
the  cynical  tones  of  her  lover.  She  had  never  heard 
him  talk  in  this  way  before,  but  then  she  knew  very 
little  about  him,  and  absolutely  nothing  of  his  past 
life.  Now  she  was  about  to  hear  it,  and,  from  the 
hard  expression  of  his  face,  she  judged  that  the  story 
he  had  to  tell  was  not  a  pleasant  one.  As  for  Durgo, 
he  waited  silently,  and  nothing  could  be  read  of  his 
feelings  from  the  dark  mask  of  his  face.  Edwin 
Lister  had  saved  his  life,  and  no  matter  what  was 
said,  Durgo  did  not  intend  to  change  his  opinion  of  his 
master,  as  the  finest  man  in  the  wide  world. 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  young,"  said  Cyril, 
after  a  pause,  "and  I  was  brought  up  by  a  maiden 
aunt.  My  father  I  rarely  saw,  as  he  was  always 
travelling  round  the  world  in  search  of  a  fortune 
which  he  never  seemed  to  find.  Sometimes  he 
returned  to  England,  and  treated  me  with  careless 
affection,  but  I  saw  very  little  of  him.  But  for  my 
aunt  I  should  have  been  utterly  neglected.  Bless 
her!  she  is  dead,"  and  he  raised  his  hat. 

"Poor  Cyril!"  murmured  Bella  affected  by  this 
picture  of  a  dull  childhood. 

"Thank  you,  dear!"  he  said,  taking  her  hand.  "My 
aunt  did  everything  for  me  out  of  her  small  income, 
and  I  don't  think  my  father  gave  one  penny  towards 
mv  education." 

"But  sureh " 

"No,  dear!"  said  Cyril,  interrupting  her;  "my  aunt 
told  me,  on  her  death-bed,  that  she  had  done  every- 


(THE   SOLITARY  FARM  1153 

thing,  so  you  can  see  that  my  father  was  only  one 
to  me  in  name." 

"He  was  working  to  make  your  fortune  in  Nigeria," 
said  Durgo  quickly. 

"So  he  said  when  he  came  home,  but  I  have  not 
seen  that  fortune  yet.  Well,  to  continue ;  my  aunt  sent 
me  to  a  public  school,  and  afterwards  to  Oxford.  I 
then  became  a  journalist,  and  my  aunt  died,  leaving 
me  a  trifle  of  money  on  which  to  live.  My  father 
came  to  London  and  borrowed  that  money — the  princi- 
pal of  my  small  income — for  one  of  his  wild  schemes, 
and  I  was  left  without  one  penny." 

"It  was  your  duty  to  assist  your  father,"  said 
Durgo  uneasily. 

"  'Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings,' " 
quoted  Cyril,  with  a  side  glance — "the  missionaries 
have  taught  you  well,  Durgo." 

"I  am  a  Christian,"  said  the  negro  proudly. 

"So  am  I,  in  a  way.  However,  I  must  get  on  with 
my  confession.  I  saw  my  father  at  various  intervals, 
and  meanwhile  earned  my  bread  by  reporting  and 
writing  articles,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  My  father 
appeared  at  intervals,  like  the  rolling  stone  which 
gathers  no  moss,  and  always  borrowed.  I  did  not 
grudge  him  the  money,  and  he  always  said  that  he  was 
about  to  make  his  fortune,  which  he  never  did." 

"He  will  make  it  this  time,"  said  Durgo  vigorously ; 
"the  treasure  is  certainly  hidden  in  the  Hinterland  of 
Nigeria,  and  when  we  reach  it " 

"Yes,  when !"  scoffed  Cyril.  "I  don't  believe  in  my 
father's  schemes,  I  tell  you.  The  last  time  he  came 
home  was  five  months  ago." 

"With  me,"  said  Durgo  gravely;  "but  I  remained 
near  the  docks,  and  my  master,  Edwin  Lister,  went 
to  the  grand  part  of  the  town,  coming  down  to  see 
me  when  he  required  my  services." 

Cyril  nodded.     "That  sounds  like  my  father,"  he 


154  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

said,  with  a  shrug;  "however,  on  this  occasion  he  told 
me  that  he  intended  to  hunt  for  buried  treasure  in 
Nigeria,  and  wanted  money.  He  did  not  mention 
Captain  Huxham,  so  I  expect  that  he  intended  to  keep 
that  part  of  his  business  secret.  "But" — Cyril 
hesitated — "well,  my  father — that  is,  he — he — never 
mind,"  he  broke  off  abruptly,  "I  can't  tell  you  just 
now.  But  he  wanted  the  sum  of  one  thousand  pounds, 
which  I  tried  to  get  for  him." 

"Oh,  Cyril!  was  that  the  money  you  mentioned?" 
asked  Bella  in  dismay. 

"Yes.  The  sum  for  which  you  thought  I  had 
killed  your  father,"  said  Cyril,  nodding;  then  seeing 
that  she  looked  pained,  he  hastily  added,  "Never 
mind,  dear,  that  is  all  over,  and  we  understand  one 
another  thoroughly.  I  went  to  Paris,  as  you  know, 
to  get  the  money.  When  I  returned  I  heard  of  the 
murder,  and  when  I  called  at  my  father's  lodgings 
in  the  West  End  could  learn  nothing  of  his  where- 
abouts. When  you  mentioned  the  double,  Bella,  it 
was  forced  on  my  mind  that  my  father  must  have 
been  that  person.  But,  as  I  could  see  no  connection 
between  my  father  and  Captain  Huxham,  I  refused 
to  believe  this.  However,  from  what  Durgo  says, 
there  seems  to  be  no  doubt  but  that  my  father  did 
come  by  stealth  to  the  Manor  on  that  night,  with 
the  idea  of  getting  the  loan  of  money.  Perhaps  he 
and  Captain  Huxham  quarreled,  but  it  seems  clear 
that  my  father  did  commit  the  murder  with  that 
sacrificial  knife,  since  it  came,  as  he  did,  from 
Nigeria." 

"I  never  saw  that  knife,"  said  Durgo  abruptly. 

"You  did  not  see  many  things,"  said  Cyril,  rising, 
for  he  felt  somewhat  cramped.  "My  father  was  prob- 
ably as  secretive  with  you  as  he  was  with  me.  You 
are  well  educated,  Durgo,  and  have  your  wits  about 
you.     Ask  yourself  if  it  is  possible  for  two  men  to 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  .155 

have  come,  on  this  particular  occasion,  from  Nigeria, 
and " 

''Two  did  come,"  interrupted  the  negro —  "myself 
and  my  master." 

"Quite  so;  but  if  you  are  innocent,  my  father  must 
be  guilty." 

Durgo  shrugged  his  great  shoulders.  "For  myself 
I  think  very  little  of  killing  anyone,"  said  he  gruffly, 
"but  you  white  men  think  differently,  so  you  should 
not  believe  your  father  guilty,  unless " 

"Oh!"  Cyril  clenched  his  hand  and  grew  pale. 
"Do  you  not  think  that  I  would  give  the  world  to 
believe  him  innocent?  I  love  Miss  Huxham,  and 
this  murder  by  my  father  places  a  barrier  between 
us.  If  you  knew  all" — here  Cyril  broke  off  hastily,  as 
he  remembered  that  he  was  speaking  to  a  black  man. 
Already  he  regretted  that  he  had  said  so  much,  but 
he  had  been  carried  away  by  the  tide  of  his  emotion. 
"The  matter  stands  like  this,"  he  said,  abruptly  chang- 
ing the  subject.  "My  father  has  killed  Captain  Hux- 
ham, and  has  disappeared  with  one  hundred  pounds." 

"But  I  thought  that  Mr.  Pence "  began  Bella, 

only  to  be  interrupted. 

"He  is  innocent,"  said  Cyril  hastily.  "On  the  face 
of  it,  he  is  innocent.  I  go  by  the  evidence  of  the 
knife  from  Nigeria,  where  Pence  has  never  been,  and 
by  the  fact  that  you  saw  my  father,  whom  you  mis- 
took for  me,  enter  the  Manor  about  the  time  the  crime 
was  committed." 

"I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  said  Bella  vaguely, 
and  regretted  that  she  had  so  hastily  condemned  the 
preacher.  After  all,  the  truth  of  the  legacy  left  by 
his  aunt  was  not  a  fiction.  "But  what  will  you  do 
now  ?" 

"I  ask  the  same  question,"  remarked  Durgo, 
sharply.  "We  are  no  nearer  the  truth  than  we  have 
been." 


156  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

Cyril  looked  in  astonishment  at  the  negro  who 
spoke  such  excellent  English,  and  so  much  to  the 
point.  Durgo,  undoubtedly,  in  intellect  was  equal  to, 
if  not  superior  to,  many  Englishmen,  and  Lister  saw 
in  him  a  helpful  coadjutor  in  solving  the  mystery. 
We  must  work  together  to  learn  the  whereabouts  of 
my  father,"  he  said  wearily,  passing  his  hand  across 
his  forhead.  "It  will  be  necessary  to  get  him  out  of 
the  country,  if  what  we  believe  is  correct.  But  it  may 
be,  that  my  father  has  crossed  the  Channel." 

"If  that  is  so,  he  will  write  to  me,"  commented 
the  negro;  he  paused,  and  then  asked  abruptly,  "If 
you  learn  that  your  father  is  guilty?" 

"I  shall  do  my  best  to  get  him  away  from  England. 
Why  do  you  ask?" 

Durgo  turned  away,  after  a  piercing  glance.  "I 
thought,  from  what  you  hinted,  that  you  would  not  be 
sorry  to  see  your  father  hanged." 

"Don't  talk  rubbish,  man,"  said  Lister  sharply. 
"My  father  is  my  father,  when  all  is  said  and  done. 
I  only  trust  that  we  are  mistaken,  and  that  he  is  not 
guilty  of  this  brutal  crime." 

Durgo  shrugged  his  massive  shoulders.  "As  to 
that,  I  care  very  little.  From  what  I  have  heard  of 
Captain  Huxham  in  my  own  country,  he  was  not  a 
good  man.    He  is  better  out  of  the  world  than  in  it.'* 

Bella  grew  crimson.  "You  speak  of  my  father," 
she  said  angrily. 

The  man  bowed  politely.  "I  ask  your  pardon, 
missy!"  Then  he  turned  to  Cyril  ceremoniously.  "I 
am  stopping  at  'The  Chequers  Inn,'  at  Marshely,"  he 
informed  him;  "so  if  you  will  call  there  we  can  speak 
about  this  matter.  Women  should  have  nothing  to  do 
with  such  affairs.    They  are  for  men." 

Lister  frowned,  as  he  did  not  approve  of  the 
superior  way  in  which  the  negro  talked.  However, 
Durgo  gave  him  no  chance  of  making  a  remark,  but 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  157 

swung-  off  with  a  noiseless  jungle  step.  Cyril  watched 
him  pass  out  of  sight,  and  confessed  that  the  man 
puzzled  him.  In  spite  of  his  barbaric  origin  and  black 
skin  and  rough  dress,  Durgo  spoke  and  acted  like  a 
gentleman,  though  he  certainly  had  been  somewhat 
rude  regarding  the  feminine  sex.  "Yet  I  like  him," 
commented  Cyril  half  to  himself;  he  seems  to  be  a 
square  chap,  and  to  have  brains.  He  is  not  the  usual 
Christy  minstrel  of  Africa.  Humph!  After  all,  I 
dare  say  that  if  you  scratched  him  you  would  find  the 
savage.  His  devotion  to  my  father  does  him  credit. 
I  wonder" — here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  low  sob  at 
his  elbow,  and  turned  to  find  Bella  in  tears.  "My 
dearest,  what  is  the  matter?"  he  asked  in  dismay. 

"Can  you  ask?"  she  moaned  despairingly.  "If 
what  you  think  is  true,  we  must  part  for  ever." 

"Don't  look  at  the  worst,  but  hope  for  the  best," 
he  entreated;  "we  can't  be  sure  that  my  father  is 
guilty!" 

"You  contradict  yourself,"  she  said,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"I  wish  I  could ;  I  am  trying  to  think  that  my  father 
is  innocent.  But  I  do  not  know.  My  father  has  been 
my  evil  genius  all  my  life." 

A  thought  occurred  to  Bella.  "Why  did  your 
father  require  one  thousand  pounds?" 

Cyril  looked  at  her  sideways.  "I  did  not  like  to 
speak  out  before  Durgo,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "but 
the  fact  is,  my  father  forged  a  cheque  for  that  sum." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MRS   TUNICS'   DISCOVERY 

So  far  it  appeared  extremely  probable  that  Edwin 
Lister  was  the  assassin  of  Captain  Huxham.  From 
the  evidence  of  her  own  eyes,  Bella  knew  that  Cyril's 
father  had  called  to  see  the  old  sailor,  and  that  she 
had  not  seen  him  depart  was  owing  to  the  fact  of  the 
drugging.  By  putting  laudanum  in  the  girl's  tea 
Huxham  had  precipitated  his  own  death,  since  Bella, 
with  her  wits  about  her,  might  have  made  a  third  at 
the  interview,  and  so  the  blow  would  not  have  been 
struck.  Neither  Bella  nor  Cyril  thought  that  Edwin 
Lister  had  come  to  the  Manor  intending  to  murder 
Huxham,  although  it  certainly  seemed  strange  that  the 
former  should  have  carried  with  him  the  Nigerian 
knife  with  which  the  crime  had  been  committed.  But 
howsoever  this  particular  point  might  be  explained,  it 
was  probable  that  the  tragedy  was  the  outcome  of  a 
sudden  quarrel. 

Edwin  Lister  had  profited  but  little  by  his  crime, 
since  the  sum  of  one  hundred  pounds  was  all  that 
he  had  been  able  to  find  in  the  safe.  Certainly  many 
papers  had  been  carried  away,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  show  that  these  were  of  value,  save  the  fact  that 
they  had  been  thieved.  If  Edwin  Lister  could  only 
be  found,  an  explanation  might  be  forthcoming;  but 
he  seemed  to  have  vanished  completely.  It  was  not 
improbable  that  he  had  walked  to  Tarhaven.  some 
miles  away,  to  escape  on  a  steamer  to  the  Continent; 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  ,159 

but  if  this  was  the  case  it  was  strange  that  he  had  not 
communicated  with  his  savage  friend.  Durgo  was  a 
man  upon  whom  Edwin  Lister  could  rely  entirely, 
setting  aside  the  fact  that  Durgo  was  needed  to  guide 
the  expedition  into  the  Hinterland  of  Nigeria,  where 
the  treasure  was  concealed.  It  was  now  some  weeks 
since  the  death  and  burial  of  the  skipper,  but  as  yet 
Edwin  Lister  had  given  no  sign  of  his  existence.  And 
until  he  did  so,  there  was  no  chance  of  solving  the 
mystery. 

True  to  his  promise,  Cyril  called  at  "The  Chequers 
Inn"  to  see  Durgo,  and  found  that  the  negro  was 
looked  upon  as  a  royal  guest.  The  lean  landlady 
believed  him  to  be  an  African  prince,  on  a  secret 
mission  to  England  concerning  the  missionary  ques- 
tion. She  was  right  in  one  way,  for  Durgo  undoubt- 
edly was  a  chief,  and  the  son  of  a  chief;  but  it  was 
questionable  if  he  was  the  friend  of  the  missionaries. 
However — as  Cyril  found — he  made  this  excuse  for 
his  presence  in  Marshely,  and  Mrs.  Giles,  the  landlady, 
a  red-hot  fanatic,  was  delighted  that  her  house  should 
be  so  honoured.  Also  Durgo  paid  largely  for  the 
sitting-room  and  bedroom  which  he  occupied. 

Cyril  was  amazed  when  he  called  one  evening,  to 
see  this  same  sitting-room,  as  he  saw  evidence  of 
great  luxury  in  the  articles  brought  by  the  negro  to 
decorate  the  somewhat  bare  apartment.  The  furni- 
ture of  the  parlour — as  Mrs.  Giles  called  it —  was 
plain  and  cheap,  but  there  were  evidences  that  it  was 
occupied  by  a  wealthy  guest.  Indian  coverlets,  gor- 
geously embroidered,  adorned  the  chairs;  there  were 
splendid  wild-beast  skins  on  the  floor,  and  on  the  side- 
tables  appeared  several  silver  vases  rudely  but  skilfully 
wrought.  Cyril  noted  a  bronze  incense-burner  in 
which  pastilles  smouldered,  several  small  golden 
images  of  ugly  tribal  gods,  some  beautifully-made 
spears  and  war-clubs,  brightly-hued  feathers,  curious 


160  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

shells,  and  photographs  of  native  towns  and  their 
inhabitants.  Why  Durgo  should  travel  with  such  a 
collection  of  rubbish  was  not  clear;  but  probably  he 
did  so,  that  he  might  be  surrounded  by  memorials  of 
his  sunny  country  in  the  land  of  fogs  and  greyness. 

Durgo  himself  was  a  surprise,  as  he  received  Cyril 
in  a  well-made  smoking  suit,  and,  quite  in  the  con- 
ventional manner,  offered  him  cigarettes  of  a  good 
brand  and  the  orthodox  whiskey  and  soda.  "Or 
champagne  if  you  prefer  it,"  said  Durgo,  laying  his 
black  hand  on  the  old-fashioned  bell-rope. 

"Coffee  for  me,"  said  Lister,  throwing  himself  into 
a  comfortable  arm-chair,  and  accepting  a  cigarette. 
"Do  you  know,  Durgo,  that  you  are  something  of  a 
puzzle  to  me?" 

The  negro  rang  the  bell,  gave  an  order  for  coffee  to 
Mrs.  Giles,  who  entered,  and  when  she  had  retired 
turned  to  his  guest.     "How  so  ?"  he  asked. 

"Your  very  good  English,  the  adornments  of  this 
room,  your  present  dress — I  did  not  look  for  such 
things  in  a — a "  Cyril  hesitated. 

"In  an  African  negro,"  finished  Durgo,  sitting 
down,  with  a  grave  smile. 

"Well,  yes.  People  of  your  colour,"  added  Cyril, 
with  the  covert  insolence  of  the  white  towards  the 
black,  "don't  usually " 

Durgo  raised  one  large  hand.  "I  know :  don't  pro- 
ceed," he  said  with  suppressed  anger;  "you  think  we 
are  barbarians." 

"Well,  you  are,  as  a  rule." 

"I  am  the  exception  to  this  rule."  Durgo  paused, 
and  his  eyes  wandered  to  some  photographs  over  the 
mantelpiece.  "I  told  you  that  the  missionaries  edu- 
cated me,"  he  continued,  "but  if  you  look  at  those 
photographs,  you  might  learn  who  was  my  real  Alma 
Mater." 

"Alma  Mater,"  repeated  Cyril,  rising  to  approach 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  161 

the  mantelpiece;  "why,  these  are  University  photo- 
graphs." 

"Oxford.     I  was  at  Oxford  some  years  ago." 

"You?"  Cyril  looked  at  the  groups  of  boating- 
men,  cricketers,  football  players,  and  wondered.  He 
wondered  still  more  at  a  portrait  of  Durgo  in  a  Master 
of  Arts  gown.  "You!"  said  Cyril,  completely  sur- 
prised. 

"Yes.  Why  not?  My  father  was  a  great  chief — 
a  king,  as  you  might  say.  But  it  was  Edwin  Lister 
who  first  fired  my  ambition  to  learn  the  lore  of  the 
white  men,  so  that  I  might  civilise  my  tribe.  He  in- 
duced my  father  to  give  me  much  money,  and  took  me 
to  England  himself  many  years  ago.  I  was  at  school, 
and  at  Oxford  until  I  took  my  degree.  Then  I 
returned  to  my  tribe  in  Nigeria — in  Southern  Nigeria 
— and  as  my  father  was  dead  I  attempted  to  teach  my 
countrymen  and  subjects  what  I  had  learned.  Your 
father  helped  me,  and  it  was  then  that  he  saved  my 
life  when  a  lion  attacked  me.  I  could  do  nothing, 
however,"  continued  the  negro  bitterly,  "as  my 
countrymen  were  too  much  under  the  sway  of  the 
fetish  priests.  These  raised  an  outcry  against  me, 
and  nominating  a  cousin  of  mine  as  chief,  drove  me 
and  your  father  away.  We  only  escaped  death  by  an 
accident,  but  I  managed  to  bring  some  treasure  with 
me,  and  came  with  your  father  to  England." 

"And  now  I  suppose  you  want  to  find  this  treasure 
you  spoke  of,  and  regain  your  chiefdom,"  said  Cyril, 
interested  in  this  strange  story. 

Durgo  fingered  a  cigarette  carefully,  and  lighted 
the  same.  "There  is  no  treasure,"  he  remarked 
quietly. 

"But  you  said " 

"I  know  I  did,  when  Miss  Huxham  was  present. 
Women,  as  I  say,  should  know  nothing  or  hear  noth- 
ing of  these  things.    To  you  I  speak  plainly,  as  you 


1 62  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

are  the  son  of  my  master,  and  so  are  entitled  to  my 
regard  and  trust.  I  came  here  with  your  father," 
added  Durgo  slowly,  "to  get  money  from  Huxham, 
so  that  we  both  might  buy  guns  and  swords  and 
rifles,  to  re-conquer  my  tribe." 

"But  the  British  Government?" 

"Quite  so.  The  Government  would  not  approve, 
so  for  that  reason  I  remained  in  rough  clothes,  in 
rough  lodgings,  near  the  docks;  while  Edwin  Lister 
went  to  live  in  the  West  End.  He  interested  several 
adventurous  spirits  in  our  proposed  expedition,  but 
money  was  sadly  needed,  and  I  had  not  enough.  Thus 
your  father  came  down  to  see  Captain  Huxham,  and 
get  that  which  was  required.  Captain  Huxham, 
whom  your  father  had  met  in  Nigeria,  owed  my 
father  a  lot  of  money,  which  he  did  not  pay.  I  was 
only  employing  Edwin  Lister  to  get  back  my  own." 

"I  see.  But  how  did  my  father  learn  the  where- 
abouts of  Captain  Huxham?" 

"You  told  him,"  was  the  negro's  unexpected 
reply. 

"I  told  him!    I  don't  recollect " 

"Perhaps  not,  as  you  spoke  hurriedly.  But  don't 
you  remember  that  when  your  father  one  day  asked  you 
for  money,  you  said  that  you  wished  to  save  all  you 
could,  as  you  desired  to  marry  Miss  Huxham.  Your 
father  questioned  you,  and  learned  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  an  old  sailor.  It  was  therefore  easy  for 
him  to  guess  that  he  had  found  the  man  for  whom 
he  was  seeking." 

"But  I  did  not  tell  my  father  where  Captain  Huxham 
lived." 

Durgo  waved  his  hand,  as  Mrs.  Giles  brought  in  the 
coffee.  "That  was  easy,"  he  remarked,  when  she  left 
the  room,  "you  were  followed  here  by  your  father. 
But  now  that  you  understand  the  position,  will  you 
work  with  me?" 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  163 

"I  will  work  with  you  to  learn  the  truth  about  this 
murder." 

"I  understand,"  said  Durgo  shrewdly,  "so  that  you 
may  prove  Edwin  Lister's  innocence." 

"Yes,"  said  Cyril,  accepting  the  cup  of  black  coffee 
which  his  host  passed  to  him.  "I  am  hoping  to  see 
my  father  and  to  learn  that  he  did  not  kill  Captain 
Huxham.  If  he  did,  there  is  no  chance  of  happiness 
for  me,  as  I  cannot  then  marry  Miss  Huxham." 

Durgo  stirred  his  coffee  calmly.  "No,  that  is  true. 
I  am  sorry  for  you.  But  if  such  is  the  case,  and  your 
marriage  is  an  impossibility,  why  not  come  with  us  on 
our  expedition  to  the  Hinterland  of  Nigeria?  If  I 
win  back  my  chief dom,  I  can  do  much  for  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  with  my  father,"  said  Cyril, 
turning  pale,  "especially  if  he  has — as  I  suspect — 
spoiled  my  life's  happiness.  If  he  is  innocent.  I  can 
then  marry  Miss  Huxham,  and  will  stay  at  home." 

"Quite  so.  I  understand.  But  my  offer  is  always 
open  to  you,  if  you  choose  to  take  it.  Meanwhile,  the 
first  thing  to  do  is  to  learn  what  Edwin  Lister  took 
away  with  him.1' 

"One  hundred  pounds." 

"Yes,  and  some  papers.  I  wish  to  learn  what  those 
papers  are,  as  Captain  Huxham  may  have  made  a 
memorandum  of  the  property  he  possessed.  There 
may  be  other  papers  which  may  cast  light  on  those 
which  were  stolen." 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  said  Cyril  perplexed. 
"Whatever  property  Captain  Huxham  possessed  went 
to  his  sister,  now  Mrs.  Henry  Vand." 

"The  English  property,"  said  Durgo  with  emphasis ; 
then  seeing  that  his  guest  was  still  puzzled,  he  laughed 
in  his  guttural  way.  "Never  mind.  I  have  an  idea 
which  may  or  may  not  turn  out  to  be  correct.  I  shall 
know  when  Mrs.  Tunks  comes  here  this  evening,  and 
then  I  can  explain  myself  fully." 


164  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

"Mrs.  Tunks — Granny  Tunks !  What  has  she  to  do 
with  the  matter?" 

Lnrgo  smiled  in  his  slow  way.  "My  friend,  I  have 
not  been  idle  while  in  Marshley  looking  for  my  master 
Edwin  Lister.  I  wished  to  search  the  Manor-house  for 
possible  papers  to  reveal  that  which  I  desire  to  know." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  shall  tell  you  when  I  am  sure,"  said  the  negro 
doggedly,  "and  not  until  then..  But  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  enter  the  Manor-house  and  search,  as  this 
man  Vand  is  very  clever  and  cunning,  and  more  of  a 
watch-dog  than  his  stupid  wife.  I  could  have  managed 
her  had  she  been  unmarried,  by  posing  as  a  wealthy 
prince — in  fact,  I  could  have  cajoled  her  as  I  have 
done  Mrs.  Giles — but  her  husband  is  suspicious  and 
sharp.  I  could  do  nothing.  Then  I  learned  that  this 
gipsy  woman,  Mrs  Tunks,  is  in  the  habit  of  charing  at 
the  Manor-house.  I  therefore  offered  to  pay  her  a 
large  sum  if  she  would  bring  to  me  certain  papers 
which  are  hidden  in  a  sandal-wood  chest,  carved  with 
the  figures  of  the  gods  of  my  tribe." 

"How  do  you  know  that  such  a  chest  exists  or  is  in 
the  Manor-house?" 

"After  I  see  Mrs.  Tunks  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Durgo 
softly. 

"How  will  Mrs.  Tunks  know  the  chest?" 

"I  have  described  it  to  her.  The  figures  of  the 
gods  are  carved  on  soft  white  wood,  and  the  lines  are 
filled  in  with  red  and  blue  and  yellow  pigment.  The  de- 
sign and  the  decoration  are  very  noticeable.  The  work 
is,  what  you  call  in  English,  skrimshanking." 

"I  thought  the  word  was  a  military  slang  one, 
meaning  to  shirk  work,"  said  Cyril,  after  a  pause. 

"Quite  so,  but  I  think  the  word  is  a  nautical  one. 
Sailors  carve  and  colour  their  carvings  in  the  way  I 
mention,  and  call  such  work  skrimshanking.  I  expect 
that  when  a  sailor  was  not  at  his  post  the  excuse  made 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  165 

was  that  he  was  skrimshanking ;  hence  the  slang  mean- 
ing of  the  word." 

"Very  interesting  from  a  philological  point  of  view," 
yawned  Lister,  taking  another  cigarette;  "but  had  we 
not  better  get  back  to  our  talk  of  my  father's  where- 
abouts ?" 

"We  can  do  nothing  until  I  know  what  Edwin  Lis- 
ter took  away  with  him,"  said  Durgo  again,  "and  that 
I  can  only  learn  if  Mrs.  Tunks  brings  the  papers  I 
mentioned  this  evening.  "He  glanced  at  the  travelling 
clock  on  the  mantel-piece.  "Nearly  nine;  she  should 
be  here  soon." 

"But  will  she  have  the  papers?" 

"Yes.  Yesterday  she  told  me  that  she  saw  the 
chest  in  an  attic  under  a  pile  of  rubbish,  but  had  no 
chance  of  opening  it.  To-day  she  is  charing  at  the 
Manor-house,  and  will  be  able  to  get  what  I  want." 

"But  if  Mrs.  Vand  catches  her?" 

"Mrs.  Vand  won't,"  was  the  confident  reply. 
"Granny  Tunks  is  too  clever  to  be  caught  and  more- 
over wants  to  earn  the  fifty  pounds  I  promised  her." 

"Great  Scott !  are  you  so  wealthy  as  to " 

"Yes,  yes!"  interrupted  Durgo  impatiently.  "I 
have  much  money,  but  not  enough  for  my  expedition. 
Unless  indeed  Edwin  Lister  has  carried  these  papers, 
which  will  show  us  how  to  get  the  money." 

"Then  my  father  knew  about  this  chest  also?" 

"Yes.  I  expect  he  looked  for  it  in  Captain  Huxham's 
study  after  the  crime  was  committed.  Unfortunately 
it  happened,  according  to  Granny  Tunks,  to  be  in  the 
attic,  so  he  missed  it.  But  Huxham  may  have  had  the 
papers  in  his  study." 

"And  that  was  why  the  room  was  so  upset?"  asked 
Lister  thoughtfully. 

"That  was  why.  After  the  crime  was  com- 
mitted  " 

"Great  heavens!  man,"  burst  out  the  other  irritably, 


166  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

"don't  talk  as  if  it  was  certain  that  my  father  killed  the 
man." 

"If  he  did  not,  who  did?"  demanded  Durgo  coolly; 
then,  as  Cyril  was  markedly  silent,  he  continued,  "I 
think  very  little  of  the  killing  myself.  If  what  I  believe 
about  the  papers  I  require  is  correct,  Captain  Huxham 
deserved  his  death  as  a  thief  and  a  false  friend." 

"You  speak  in  riddles,"  said  Lister  bewildered. 

"Granny  Tunks  can  solve  them,"  replied  the  negro 
significantly.  Have  some  more  coffee  and  try  these 
cigars.    They  are  superfine." 

Cyril  silently  accepted  this  further  hospitality,  and 
s-^red  furtively  at  the  calm  black  face  of  his  host.  The 
nose  was  aquiline  and  the  lips  extraordinarily  thin,  so  it 
was  apparent  that  Durgo  had  Arab  blood  in  his  veins. 
Perhaps  he  was  a  descendant  of  those  conqueringMo- 
hammedans  who  came  down  like  a  storm  on  Central 
Africa,  in  the  Middle  Ages.  What  with  Durgo's  looks, 
his  educated  speech  and  his  air  of  command,  Cyril  won- 
dered that  he  had  ever  taken  the  negro  for  an  ordinary 
black.  All  the  same  he  believed  that,  given  the  neces- 
sary environment,  the  savagery  would  break  out  from 
under  the  thin  veneer  of  civilisation  which  the  man  had 
acquired  at  Oxford.  Scratch  a  Russian  and  you  find  a 
Tartar;  scratch  a  modern  man,  semi-civilised  or  wholly 
civilised,  and  you  find  the  prehistoric  animal. 

While  Cyril  was  thinking  in  this  manner  and  watch- 
ing the  black  man's  face  through  the  smoke,  he  saw 
Durgo  suddenly  listen  intently,  with  the  air  of  an 
animal  scenting  danger.  Shortly  footsteps  were  heard 
in  the  passage  without,  and  the  door  opened  to 
admit  Granny  Tunks,  who  was  shown  in  by  Mrs. 
Giles.  The  toss  of  the  lean  landlady's  head,  and  her 
air  of  disdain,  showed  that  she  was  by  no  means  pleased 
with  the  ragged  visitor.  But  a  glance  from  the  glossy 
Romany  eye  of  Mrs.  Tunks  sent  her  shuddering  out  of 
the  room.     In  spite  of  the  religion  taught  by  Silas 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  167 

Pence  at  the  Little  Bethel  chapel,  Mrs.  Giles  was  primi- 
tive enough  to  believe  in  the  power  of  the  evil  eye.  And 
she  had  some  reason  to,  for  people  who  offended  Mrs. 
Tunks  invariably  underwent  a  spell  of  bad  luck. 

"Here  I  am,  master,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks  with  a  cring- 
ing air,  and  Cyril  started  to  hear  her  so  address  the 
negro.  He  was  further  surprised  when  he  saw  how 
commanding  were  the  looks  of  Durgo. 

"Have  you  got  those  papers?"  asked  the  negro,  ex- 
tending his  large  hand. 

Granny  Tunks  had  them  and  said  so,  but  it  took  her 
some  time  to  find  them,  so  ragged  were  her  garments 
and  so  hidden  her  pocket.  She  still  wore  the  brown 
dress  tagged  with  parti-coloured  ribbons,  and  her  plen- 
tiful white  hair  still  hung  like  seaweed  from  under  the 
dingy  red  handkerchief.  Also  as  usual  she  jingled 
with  the  multiplicity  of  coins  which  dangled  from  her 
neck,  her  wrists,  and  from  various  parts  of  her  pictu- 
resque dress.  In  sixty  or  seventy  seconds  she  managed 
to  find  a  bundel  of  dusty  papers  tied  up  with  faded  red 
tape,  and  passed  them  to  Durgo  with  ingratiating 
smiles.     "There  you  are,  deary " 

"Master !"  snapped  the  negro,  with  sudden  ferocity. 

"Yes,  master,"  stammered  the  woman,  turning 
slightly  pale  under  her  brown  skin.  "I  found  them  in 
the  chest  you  spoke  of.  The  cat" — she  meant  Mrs. 
Vand — "didn't  see  me,  master,  so  no  one  knows  but 
this  gentleman ;  but  he  won't  say  a  word ;  no,  no,  I'll  be 
bound  he  won't." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Cyril  sharply. 

Mrs.  Tunks  replied  without  taking  her  beady  black 
eyes  from  Durgo.  "I  saw  the  coming  of  the  master  in 
the  crystal,  lovey,  and  told  your  dear  sweetheart  of  the 
same.  The  master  brings  good  luck  to  you  both,  so 
if  you  tell,  it  wall  part  you  and  your  deary  for  ever." 

"We  are  parted  as  it  is,"  said  Cyril  bitterly. 

"Perhaps  not,"  replied  the  old  woman. 


i68  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

Lister  rose  from  his  chair  and  stared.  "What  do 
yon  mean?"  he  cried  imperiously. 

Durgo,  who  had  been  examining  the  papers,  looked 
up  on  hearing  this  question,  and  shot  forth  a  long  arm 
in  the  direction  of  the  door.  "Go!"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Tunks.    "Go  at  once." 

"And  the  money,  master?" 

"You  shall  have  it  to-morrow,  as  soon  as  I  have 
examined  these.  Go,  I  say;  I  am  not  used  to  speak 
twice." 

"But  Durgo,"  cried  Cyril,  annoyed  by  the  interrup- 
tion, "I  want  to  know " 

"You  shall  know  what  Mrs.  Tunks  has  to  say  to- 
morrow," said  Durgo,  settling  down  into  the  chair  and 
still  examining  the  papers. 

The  witch-wife,  who  had  moved  slowly  towards  the 
door,  had  not  looked  at  Lister  once  during  her  stay  in 
the  room.  All  the  time  her  gaze  was  fixed  almost 
reverentially  upon  the  negro.  In  spite  of  Durgo's  pro- 
hibition Cyril  crossed  the  room  to  catch  Mrs.  Tunks  by 
the  arm.  But  the  moment  he  touched  her  she  seemed 
to  wake  up  as  from  a  magnetic  spell,  and  opening  the 
door  slipped  through  like  a  snake.  When  the  door  was 
closed  again  Cyril,  in  some  anger,  faced  Durgo. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  me  question  her?" 

"She  would  have  said  nothing,"  returned  the  man 
dryly,  "because  she  knows  nothing." 

"She  hinted  that  Bella — Miss  Huxham,  I  mean — 
and  myself  would  not  be  parted." 

Durgo  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Hai !  The  woman 
is  a  witch  and  knows  doings  of  the  unseen.  She  may 
have  been  told " 

"Oh,  rubbish !    I  don't  believe  in  such  things." 

"Possibly  you  don't ;  I  do.  I  have  been  taught  things 
which  would  open  your  eyes  if  I  explained  them.  In 
Africa  we  know  much  that  you  don't  know." 

A   sudden   light    flashed    into   Cyril's   brain.      "Is 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  169 

that  why   Mrs.   Tunks   addressed   you   as   master?" 

Durgo  nodded  absently,  still  reading  the  papers.  But 
he  did  not  reply  in  words,  as  his  eyes  were  travelling 
over  some  faded  writing  and  his  lips  were  moving.  Be- 
fore Cyril  could  ask  another  question,  as  he  was 
desirous  of  doing,  the  negro  started  to  his  feet  with 
a  fierce  shout,  which  sounded  like  a  warcry. 

"As  I  believed;  as  I  thought!"  he  shouted.  "Hai! 
the  good  news." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Lister,  surprised  by  the  savage 
exultation. 

Durgo  thrust  the  papers  into  his  pocket  and  began 
to  tell  a  story  without  any  preamble.  "When  my 
father  was  chief,  there  were  two  traders  in  his  town 
whom  he  trusted.  One  traded  inland,  and  the  other 
commanded  the  river  steamer.  Maxwell  Faith  was  the 
inland  trader's  name,  and  the  steamer  commander  was 
Jabez  Huxham.  For  services  rendered,  my  father,  the 
chief  Kawal,  gave  Mr.  Faith  jewels  to  the  value  of 
forty  thousand  pounds.  Huxham  became  jealous,  and 
having  murdered  Faith  ran  away  with  the  jewels.  He 
brought  them  to  England,  to  Bleacres,  and  feared 
night  and  day  lest  he  should  be  assaulted  and  killed  for 
the  sake  of  the  treasure.  That  is  why  Huxham  planted 
the  fields  with  corn,  leaving  only  one  path  whereby  to 
reach  the  Manor-house.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  sur- 
prised. Huxham  took  Faith's  papers  also  regarding 
the  value  and  number  of  these  jewels.  The  papers  were 
in  the  chest  I  told  you  of,  and  I  have  these  papers  here" 
— he  tapped  his  breast — "but  the  jewels  no  doubt  have 
been  taken  by  your  father,  who  doubtless  killed  Hux- 
ham to  get  them."  Durgo  nodded.  "Good,  very  good. 
When  my  master  Edwin  Lister  writes  to  me  to  join 
him,  we  can  sell  the  jewels  for  forty  thousand  pounds 
and  then  can  fit  out  our  expedition  to  recover  my 
chief dom.  Good-night,  Lister.  I  have  work  to  do; 
good  night!"  and  before  Cyril  could  recover  from  his 


I/O  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

amazement  he  found  himself  gently  led  into  the  pass- 
age and  heard  the  door  locked. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  he  asked  himself,  but 
couH  not  answer  the  question. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHAT  SILAS  PENCE  KNEW 

On  that  same  evening,  when  Cyril  was  interviewing 
the  strange  negro,  there  was  a  concert  in  the  Marshely 
school-house  in  aid  of  the  prize  fund.  Dora  had 
arranged  the  programme,  and  had  asked  Bella  to  be 
present.  The  girl  would  much  rather  have  remained 
absent  owing  to  the  recent  death  of  her  father ;  besides, 
she  did  not  feel  able  to  enjoy  music  and  frivolity  and 
laughter.  But  to  please  her  friend,  who  had  been  so 
kind  to  her,  she  came  dressed  in  black  and  deeply 
veiled  to  the  festival.  For  obvious  reasons  she  took  a 
seat  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room,  and  near  the  door, 
so  that  she  could  easily  slip  out  when  the  end  came. 

But  Mrs.  Vand  was  less  retiring.  In  spite  of  her 
brother's  tragic  death  she  appeared  dressed  in  all  the 
colours  of  the  rainbow,  posing  more  as  a  bride  than 
as  a  mourner.  In  fact,  she  displayed  very  little  grief 
for  the  death  of  Jabez,  and  those  who  knew  the  late 
Captain  Huxham  were  not  surprised,  as  he  had  never 
been  a  man  to  inspire  affection.  Moreover,  the  secret 
marriage  of  Mrs.  Coppersley  to  Henry  Vand  had 
created  quite  a  sensation,  and  bride  and  bridegroom 
were  much  talked  about  and  pointed  at.  Vand  himself 
was  one  of  the  performers,  as  he  played  two  violin 
solos.  Some  folk  thought  that  both  he  and  his  wife 
would  have  displayed  better  taste  by  remaining  away, 
but  Mrs.  Vand  laughed  at  this  opinion  and  flaunted 
her  newly-found  happiness  in  the  face  of  all  her  ac- 
quaintances. 

Luckily   few   people  noticed   Bella  in  her  obscure 


172  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

corner,  so  she  was  not  troubled  with  questions.  Those 
who  guessed  who  she  was,  felt  that  she  had  been  very 
badly  treated  since  the  money  had  been  left  to  Mrs. 
Vand,  and  indeed  the  sympathies  of  the  entire  neigh- 
bourhood were  with  the  disinherited  girl.  Mrs.  Vand, 
as  everyone  said,  should  have  been  ashamed  of  herself ; 
but  in  spite  of  the  indecent  way  in  which  she  thrust 
her  good  fortune  on  everyone's  notice,  no  one  was  bold 
enough  to  tell  her  what  was  the  general  opinion  of  her 
conduct.  As  for  Bella,  she  sat  in  her  corner  feeling  ill 
and  miserable.  She  had  every  right  to  be  so  con- 
sidering the  position  in  which  she  and  her  lover  were 
placed.  It  was  to  ween  her  thoughts  from  this  dismal 
state  of  affairs  that  the  kind-hearted  school-mistress 
had  induced  her  to  come  to  the  concert.  Hitherto  the 
cure  had  not  worked. 

The  programme  was  the  usual  village  one.  There 
were  several  sentimental  ballads  of  the  purely  English 
drawing-room  type ;  two  or  three  recitations,  the  violin 
solos  of  Henry  Vand,  who  really  played  with  rare 
skill,  and  a  reading  by  Silas  Pence,  who  was  the  chair- 
man. Pence  looked  leaner  and  more  delicate  than 
ever,  and  read  the  "Dream  of  Eugene  Aram"  as  a 
cheerful  contribution  to  the  evening's  entertainment. 
His  sepulchral  tones  and  dismal  appearance  cast  quite 
a  gloom  over  the  close  of  the  evening,  which  was  only 
dispelled  by  the  singing  of  a  glee  by  the  Marshely 
Choral  Society.  But  some  time  before  this  point  was 
reached  Bella  had  slipped  out  of  the  room  and  had 
taken  her  way  back  to  the  cottage.  She  went  early,  as 
her  aunt  had  noticed  her,  and  it  was  just  possible  that 
Mrs.  Vand,  who  dearly  loved  to  make  trouble,  might 
start  a  quarrel  if  it  came  to  a  conversation  between  the 
two.  Mrs.  Vand  had  not  forgiven  her  enforced  pay- 
ment of  one  hundred  pounds. 

Bella  did  not  enter  the  cottage,  as  it  was  very  hot 
within,  and  the  night  was  simply  glorious.     She  took 


THE   SOLITARY   FARM  173 

off  her  hat  and  veil  and  seated  herself  in  the  tiny  gar- 
den to  enjoy  the  soft  breeze.  There  was  not  a  cloud 
in  the  darkly-blue  sky,  and  a  serene  moon  moved  ma- 
jestically across  the  starry  heavens.  The  cottage,  with 
the  lamp  light  shining  behind  the  pink  blinds,  looked 
pretty  and  picturesque,  so  Bella  resolved  to  wait  for 
Dora's  return  in  the  open  air.  She  had  ample  to  think 
about,  for  the  concert  had  failed  to  inspire  her  with 
cheerful  thoughts.  How  could  it  when  the  clouds 
which  environed  her  were  so  densely  black?  Poor 
Bella  was  not  religious,  and  had  small  faith  in  the 
goodness  of  God.  This  was  natural  as  God's  name 
had  rarely  been  mentioned  by  Captain  Huxham  and 
his  sister,  who  were  perfect  heathens  of  the  animal 
sort.  So  Bella,  having  no  hope  to  cling  to  and  seeing 
no  ray  of  light  piercing  the  darkness  around  her,  began 
to  conceive  a  cheerless  future  in  which  the  figure  of 
Cyril  did  not  appear.  The  fact  that  his  father  had 
murdered  hers  ended  the  chance  of  marriage  once  and 
for  all.  He  would  doubtless  go  abroad  and  try  to  for- 
get her,  while  she,  bereft  of  love,  home,  money,  and 
father,  would  seek  some  humble  situation  as  a  nursery 
governess:  and  it  must  be  confessed  that,  as  things 
were,  Bella  Huxham  had  good  reason  to  despair.  Any 
chance  of  happiness  seemed  to  be  as  far  removed  from 
her  as  was  the  moon  in  the  heaven  above  her. 

The  seat  upon  which  she  was  resting  stood  close  to 
the  white  palings  of  the  garden,  and  under  a  leafy 
chestnut,  now  in  the  full  glory  of  its  summer  foliage. 
Occasionally  a  person,  would  pass,  or  a  child  singing 
would  run  home,  but  for  the  most  part  the  road  was 
deserted.  Nearly  all  the  village  people  were  at  the 
concert,  and  it  would  not  end  for  at  least  another  half 
hour.  Only  then  would  the  roadway  be  full,  but  in  the 
meantime,  save  for  occasional  interruptions,  Bella  had 
solitude  and  peace.  She  was  therefore  extremely  ill- 
pleased  when  a  dark  figure  halted  at  the  palings  and, 


i  ;4  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

leaning  over,  removed  its  hat  to  reveal  the  delicate 
features  of  Silas  Pence. 

"I  give  you  good-evening,  Miss  Huxham,"  said  the 
preacher,  in  his  refined  but  somewhat  shrill  voice. 

"Good  evening,"  said  Bella  coldly.  "Had  you  not 
better  return  to  the  concert,  Mr.  Pence  ?  As  the  chair- 
man you  cannot  leave  the  platform." 

"I  have  presided  most  of  the  evening  and  have 
recited  my  piece,"  said  Pence  eagerly.  "Now,  on  the 
plea  of  feeling  faint  I  have  left  that  hot  room,  and  I 
am  here  to  commune  with  you  in  the  glory  of  the 
night.  Is  it  not  beautiful,  Miss  Huxham?"  and  he 
recited  the  well-known  lines  of  Addison : — 

Soon  as  the  shades  of  night  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth. 

"Did  you  come  here  to  recite,  Mr.  Pence?"  said 
Bella  disagreeably.  "If  so  I  must  go  indoors.  I  have 
been  entertained  enough  this  evening." 

"You  should  not  have  been  at  the  concert  at  all," 
said  the  preacher  rebukingly,  "seeing  that  your  dear 
father  is  scarcely  cold  in  his  grave." 

"That  is  my  business,  Mr.  Pence,"  said  Bella  in  icy 
tones.  "If  you  rebuke  any  one  it  should  be  my  aunt, 
who  is  flaunting  the  property  of  which  she  robbed  me 
in  the  face  of  everyone." 

"I  shall  rebuke  Sister  Vand  at  a  proper  time," 
said  Silas  authoritatively.    "In  the  meantime " 

"You  rebuke  me,"  said  Bella,  who  had  risen  to  her 
feet,  weary  of  the  conversation.  "I  decline  to  permit 
your  interference." 

"I  don't  want  to  rebuke  you,"  cried  Pence  eagerly. 
"I  wish  to  make  you  smile  on  me.  Become  my  spouse, 
or  fair  lily  of  the  valley,  and  you  will  have  me  always 
at  your  feet." 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  175 

"I  have  told  you  before,  Mr.  Pence,  that  I  cannot 
marry  you." 

"Then  you  still  intend  to  wed  that  son  of  Belial, 
overflowing  with  insolence  and  wine?"  questioned  the 
preacher  bitterly;  "your  father's  murderer." 

"Mr.  Lister  is  perfectly  innocent,  as  I  happen  to 
know." 

"Can  you  prove  his  innocence?" 

"Can  you  prove  his  guilt?"  retorted  the  girl  spirit- 
edly. 

"I  saw  him  enter  the  Manor  on  that  night." 

"You  saw  a  man  who  resembled  him.  Mr.  Lister 
was  in  London  and  can  prove  that  he  was  there.  It  is 
useless  your  using  threats,  Mr.  Pence,  for  had  you 
been  able  to  carry  them  out  you  would  long  since  have 
seen  the  police." 

Pence  frowned.  "Who  is  this  other  man?"  he 
asked. 

"You  can  find  out!"  said  Bella  impatiently,  "and  I 
am  going  indoors." 

"There  is  no  other  man,"  cried  Pence  angrily. 
"Why,  I  saw  Mr.  Lister  quite  clearly.  I  could  not 
mistake  him." 

"You  did,  however." 

"The  police  shall  decide  that." 

"Go  to  the  police.  You  threatened  to  do  so  before. 
Why  don't  you  do  what  you  say  instead  of  trying  to 
frighten  me  with  stage  thunder  ?" 

Silas  stamped  and  raged.  "You  will  find  the 
thunder  real  enough  before  I  have  done  with  you. 
This  Lister  man  is  guilty,  and  shall  hang.  You  shall 
become  my  wife,  my " 

"Never!  never!  never!"  and  Bella  stamped  in  her 
turn. 

"You  will.  As  you  have  no  name  of  your  own 
you  should  be  glad  to  take  that  of  an  honest 
man." 


i76  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

The  girl  started  and  stared.  "My  name  is  Hux- 
ham."  she  said  angrily. 

"It  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  When  I  wished  to 
marry  you,  Captain  Huxham,  your  supposed  father, 
told  me  that  you  were  a  nameless  waif  whom  he  had 
adopted  out  of  charity." 

"It  is  wholly  false." 

"It  is  true!  it  is  true!"  Pence  leaped  the  fence 
before  she  knew  what  was  his  intention,  and  caught 
her  in  his  arms,  "and  you  must  become  my  wife." 

"You  beast!  you  villain!"  cried  the  girl,  struggling. 
"How  dare " 

She  got  no  further.  Even  while  the  words  were 
on  her  lips  a  pair  of  very  strong  hands  caught  Pence 
by  the  shoulders,  and  wrenching  him  from  the  girl 
flung  him  over  the  fence.  The  next  moment  Cyril 
held  Bella  in  his  arms. 

"Oh,  my  dear!  my  dear!"  she  sobbed,  utterly 
broken  down,  "how  glad  I  am  that  you  arrived  to 
punish  him." 

"I  shall  punish  him  more!"  cried  Cyril,  striding 
towards  the  gate. 

"No,  no!"  said  Bella,  stopping  him.  "Think  of 
my  good  name.  It  is  useless  making  a  scandal.  But 
ask  him  if  what  he  says  is  true." 

"What  does  he  say?"  questioned  Cyril,  with  a  note 
of  savagery  in  his  voice. 

"Oh  hush!  hush!"  implored  Bella,  clinging  to  him. 
"Speak  lower.  I  don't  wish  everyone  to  hear  what 
Mr.  Pence  declares." 

"But  what  is  it?  what  is  it?" 

"Ask  him.     After  all,  he  may  be  wrong,  and—" 

Still  holding  the  girl,  Lister,  mindful  of  her  wish, 
spoke  in  a  loud  whisper  to  the  dusty  figure  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence.  Pence  had  just  risen,  sorely 
bruised,  but,  unable  to  leave  his  rival  with  the  girl 
he  loved,  yet  lingered  in  the  roadway. 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  .177 

"Here,  you,"  said  Lister  sharply,  "what  have  you 
been  saying  to  Miss  Huxham?  Speak  out,  you  dog, 
or  I'll  thrash  you  thoroughly.  Let  me  go,  Bella;  let 
me  go,  I  say." 

"No,  no!  We  must  avoid  all  scandal.  Think  of 
what  might  be — be — "  she  gasped,  and  without  end- 
ing her  sentence  fell  half  fainting  into  Cyril's  arms. 

Then  came  Pence's  chance  to  discharge  the  vials 
of  his  wrath,  for  he  saw  that  Lister,  hampered  by 
the  fainting  girl,  could  not  touch  him.  Stepping  up 
to  the  palings  with  his  face  distorted  with  anger,  he 
spoke  in  low  tones  of  hate.  "I  say  now  to  you  what 
I  shall  soon  say  to  all.  Captain  Huxham  adopted  the 
girl,  whom  you  falsely  say  that  you  love.  She  has  no 
position  and  no  name  and  no  money,  so  if  you  marry 
her " 

"Stop,"  said  Cyril  imperiously.  "Can  you  swear 
to  the  truth  of  this  wild  statement?  Miss  Huxham 
always  passed  as  the  captain's  daughter." 

"She  is  not  Miss  Huxham,"  said  Silas,  insistently. 
"She  is  Miss — I  don't  know  what.  I  can  prove  what 
I  say,  if  necessary.    And  I  shall,  unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

".Unless  you  renounce  her  so  that  she  can  become 
my  wife." 

Bella  heard  the  words  and  stood  unexpectedly 
erect  with  fresh  energy,  wrathful  at  Pence's  persis- 
tency. "Nothing  will  ever  induce  me  to  become  your 
wife.  And  if  what  you  say  is  true  my  aunt  would 
have  told  me." 

"Mrs.  Vand  is  not  your  aunt  and  Captain  Hux- 
ham was  not  your  father,"  said  the  preacher  sullenly. 
"If  needs  be  I  can  prove  it." 

"Then  do  so,"  cried  Cyril  quickly,  "for  by  doing 
so  you  will  remove  the  sole  barrier  to  our  marriage." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Silas,  recoiling  in 
sheer  surprise. 

"Let  me  speak,"  said  Bella,  guessing  what  her  lover 


i7S  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

meant.  "We  mean  that  had  you  held  your  tongue 
Cyril  and  I  might  have  been  forced  to  part.  Now  that 
I  know  I  am  not  Captain  Huxham's  daughter  I  can 

marry  him." 

Pence  looked  from  one  face  to  the  other  in  the 
chill  moonlight  and  drew  his  own  conclusions  with 
swift  intuition,  sharpened  by  hate.  "Then  this  Lister 
man  is  the  murderer  of  Huxham?" 

"You  have  to  prove  that,"  said  Cyril  cheerfully. 
"I  am  not  bound  to  incriminate  myself,  you  know." 

Silas  raised  his  hands  to  the  heavens  in  mute  appeal, 
for  he  saw  that  in  some  way,  not  entirely  clear  to  him, 
he  had  brought  about  the  very  thing  he  had  been  try- 
ing to  avert.  Enraged  at  his  blunder  and  despairing 
of  gaining  his  ends,  the  man,  timid  as  he  usually  was, 
would  have  sprung  over  the  fence  to  renew  the 
struggle  with  his  rival,  but  that  many  dark  figures  were 
seen  coming  along  the  road.  Apparently  the  concert 
was  over. 

In  spite  of  his  anger,  Pence  retained  sufficient 
sense  to  decide  immediately  on  a  sensible  course.  He 
mechanically  brushed  his  clothes,  and  bent  over  the 
palings  to  speak  with  Cyril.  "To-morrow,"  he  said, 
in  a  tense  whisper,  "you  will  be  arrested,  on  my  evi- 
dence, and  she" — he  pointed  a  trembling  finger  at 
Bella — "will  be  known  as  a  nameless  outcast." 

The  girl  uttered  a  faint  cry  at  the  insult,  and  Cyril 
would  have  struck  the  man  who  spoke.  But  Pence 
was  prepared,  and  swerved  away  from  the  fence  with 
a  taunting  laugh,  to  retreat  rapidly  down  the  road 
towards  the  advancing  throng. 

"Come  inside;  come  inside,"  said  Bella,  plucking 
at  Cyril's  sleeve;  "you  must  not  be  seen  here  with 
me  at  this  hour.  Mr.  Pence  will  say  nothing  for 
his  own  sake.    Come  inside  until  Dora  returns." 

This  was  wise  counsel,  so  the  pair  hastily  retreated 
and  closed  the  door,  before  they  could  be  seen^  by 
the  sharp  eyes  of  the  village  gossips.     Bella  ran  into 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  179 

the  dining-room,  where  supper  was  laid,  and  sinking 
into  a  chair,  mutely  pointed  to  the  water  jug.  Lister, 
seeing  how  pale  she  was,  poured  out  a  glass,  and  held 
it  to  her  lips.  Shortly  she  was  more  her  old  self,  as 
the  colour  returned  to  her  cheeks  and  the  brightness 
to  her  eyes.  It  was  then  that  she  asked  a  leading 
question : 
"Do  you  think  that  what  Mr.  Pence  says  is  true?" 

"I  hope  so.  I  fervently  hope  so,"  replied  Cyril, 
sitting  down  to  discuss  the  matter,  "for  then  we  can 

marry,  and "  he  started  and  stopped.    It  occurred 

to  him  that  Pence's  statement  might  be  the  cause  of 
Granny  Tunks'  queer  remark,  an  explanation  of  which 
had  been  prevented  by  Durgo.  Then  again,  from  the 
negro's  action,  and  from  the  facts  that  Mrs.  Tunks 
had  seen — so  she  said — his  coming  in  the  crystal,  and 
obeyed  him  so  implicitly,  it  might  be  that  Durgo  knew 
much  that  he  would  only  disclose  at  the  proper  time. 
Of  one  thing  Cyril  was  certain — namely,  that  Durgo 
was  his  friend,  and  would  do  his  best  to  put  things 
right,  if  Lister  assisted  him  to  recover  traces  of  his 
father  and  the  jewels,  which  Edwin  Lister  was  sup- 
posed to  possess. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Pence's  statement  was  true," 
said  Cyril,  musingly,  as  he  reflected  on  the  present  po- 
sition of  affairs.  "It  did  seem  strange  to  me  that  such 
a  rough  sea-dog  as  Huxham  undoubtedly  was,  should 
have  so  refined  a  daughter  as  you." 

"I  thought  it  was  my  education,  and " 

"No,"  said  Cyril,  looking  at  her  searchingly  in  the 
light  of  the  small  lamp.  "Your  feet  and  hands  are 
too  delicate,  and  your  features  too  clearly  cut.  and 
your  whole  bearing  too  well  bred,  to  be  the  child  of 
such  a  man.  Huxham  and  his  sister  are  plebeians: 
you  are  an  aristocrat.    I  am  quite  sure." 

Bella  coloured  at  his  praise  of  her  beauty.  "Per- 
haps what  Mr.  Pence  says  may  explain  why  the 
money  was  not  left  to  me." 


i So  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

Cyril  nodded.  "If  you  are  not  Huxham's  daughter, 
of  course  he  would  not  leave  you  the  money.  But  it 
was  strange  that  he  should  tell  Pence — why,  what  is 
the  matter?" 

Bella  had  started  to  her  feet,  and  was  looking  at 
him  strangely.  "I  am  unwilling  to  suspect  Mr.  Pence, 
seeing  that  it  seems  almost  certain  your  father  is 
guilty,  but  I  don't  believe  that  my  father — I  mean 
that  Captain  Huxham  told  him." 

"Why  not?" 

Tt  was  not  Captain  Huxham's  way  to  confide  in 
anyone,  and  if  he  had  kept  silent  for  so  long  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  have  told  anyone  later,  especially 
Silas  Pence.  If  anyone  knew  the  truth  it  would  be  my 
aunt — I  mean  Mrs.  Vand — and  she  hated  me  quite 
sufficiently  to  tell  me  that  I  was  no  kith  or  kin  of  hers. 
This  she  did  not  do." 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  make  of  the  business?" 

"This,"  said  Bella,  slowly.  "I  believe  that  Mr. 
Pence  does  know  something  of  the  murder,  although 
he  may  not  have  struck  the  blow.  Your  father  may 
have  been  disturbed  by  Mr.  Pence,  and  may  have 
taken  the  hundred  pounds.  But  I  am  certain  that  Mr. 
Pence  found  some  papers  telling  that  I  was  not  Cap- 
tain Huxham's  daughter,  and  has  them  in  his  posses- 
sion now." 

Cyril  shook  his  head.  "You  have  no  proofs  of  this 
wild  charge." 

"No,  I  have  not.    All  the  same,  I  believe " 

"Belief  is  one  thing,  and  certainty  another,"  said 
Lister,  decisively,  and,  again,  I  must  tell  you  that  my 
father — if  indeed  he  is  guilty — got  much  more  than 
one  hundred  pounds";  and  he  related  all  that  had 
taken  place  in  Durgo's  rooms.  Bella  listened  in 
silence,  and  was  particularly  struck  with  the  use  made 
by  the  negro  of  Mrs.  Tunks. 

"I  believe  that  Granny  and  this  black  man  are  in 
league,"   she  declared;  "you  know  she   foretold  his 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  181 

coming   by   the   crystal.      And   that   is   all   rubbish." 

"In  this  instance  she  foretold  truly,"  said  Cyril  drily. 

"Because  she  knew  beforehand,  and  simply  made 
use  of  the  crystal  to  impress  me,"  retorted  the  girl. 
"Do  you  think  Durgo  himself  is  guilty?" 

"No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Cyril  very  decidedly.  "He 
bewailed  the  fact  that  my  father  had  not  asked  him 
to  get  Huxham  out  of  the  way.  No,  Bella,  in  some 
way,  my  father  managed  the  matter  himself.  He 
might  have  killed  the  old  sailor  during  a  quarrel,  and 
have  secured  the  jewels  and  have  gone  into  hiding 
either  here  or  on  the  Continent.  We  can  only  wait 
until  we  hear  from  him.  Then  the  mystery  may  be 
solved." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  that  your  father  got  the  jewels," 
said  Bella,  after  a  pause.  "After  all,  they  were  in  the 
chest  in  the  attic  by  Durgo's  showing." 

"The  papers  were,  but  Durgo  was  not  certain  if 
Huxham  left  the  jewels  there,  my  dear.  You  see, 
the  old  skipper  might,  and  probably  did,  keep  the  jew- 
els in  his  study  for  safety.  But  the  jewels  were  in  the 
house  I  am  sure,  for  Huxham  feared  lest  they  should 
be  stolen,  and  so  planted  the  corn  and  used  the  search- 
light.    By  the  way,  I  saw  that  used  the  other  night." 

"Henry  Vand  knows  how  to  use  it,"  said  Bella  in- 
differently; "my  father  showed  him  how  to  work  it 
on  one  occasion.     But  what  is  to  be  done?" 

"I  must  wait  and  see  what  Durgo  intends  to  do. 
He  knows  much  that  we  are  ignorant  of,  and  for  my 
father's  sake  I  think  he  will  help  us  both." 

"And  Mr.  Pence's  statement?" 

Cyril  took  her  in  his  arms.  "I  believe  it,"  he  said, 
kissing  her  fondly,  "so  the  barrier  between  us  is  re- 
moved." 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  said  Bella  reverently,  and 
being  unstrung  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DURGO,    THE   DETECTIVE 

As  has  been  seen,  Durgo  was  no  ordinary  man,  and 
even  had  he  been  white  instead  of  black,  would  have 
passed  for  a  clever  member  of  the  Aryan  race. 
Undoubtedly  the  strain  of  Arab  blood  in  him  shar- 
pened his  intellectual  faculties,  and  made  him  ambi- 
tious to  play  a  leading  part  in  the  history  of  his  tribe. 
That  the  members  of  it  were  savages  mattered  very 
little,  since  he  had  been  educated  in  the  lore  of  the 
ruling  race,  and  could  raise  them  sooner  or  later 
almost  to  his  own  level.  Almost,  that  is,  but  not  quite, 
for  Durgo  had  no  notion  that  any  individual  of  his 
tribe  should  be  as  clever  as  himself.  He  wished  to  be 
a  despot,  and  rule  from  an  autocratic  throne. 

The  one  weak  point  in  his  character — if  gratitude 
can  be  called  weakness — was  his  adoration  of  Edwin 
Lister.  That  gentleman  had  undoubtedly  saved  his 
life,  and  assuredly  had  aided  him  to  attain  to  his 
present  position  of  culture  by  inducing  the  old  chief 
to  send  his  clever  son  to  England.  But  Cyril  knew, 
what  Durgo  in  his  blind  idolatry  did  not — that  Edwin 
Lister  was  not  a  man  to  work  for  nothing,  and  wanted 
much  more  than  he  ever  gave.  There  was  every 
chance  that  he  would  abuse  the  gratitude  of  Durgo, 
when  the  negro's  ambition  was  achieved,  and  if  his 
protege  revolted  from  complying  with  the  exorbitant 
demands  which  would  surely  be  made  on  his  gener- 
osity, he  would  speedily  be  reminded  of  what  had  been 
done  for  him.  With  an  ordinary  man  this  would  have 
mattered  little  as  such  a  one  would  decline  unreason- 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  183 

able  exactions.  But  Durgo's  strongest  trait  was  grati- 
tude, and  it  was  probable  that  in  spite  of  his  clever 
brain  and  European  education,  he  would  become  the 
mere  puppet  of  his  benefactor.  Thus  the  very  nobility 
of  Durgo's  nature  would  reduce  him  to  slavery,  and  he 
would  be  ruined  because  he  possessed  the  rarest  of  all 
virtues. 

Little  as  Cyril  had  seen  of  his  father,  he  knew 
his  character  thoroughly,  being  able  to  read  by  intu- 
ition, as  well  as  by  observation.  Edwin  had  only  one 
god  to  worship,  and  that  was  himself — a  deity  so  con- 
genial that  the  egotist  was  most  devout  in  his  religion. 
Of  course,  Durgo's  enslavement  and  Edwin  Lister's 
tyranny  had  nothing  to  do  with  Cyril,  as  father  and 
son  had  long  since  gone  on  their  several  ways.  But 
Cyril  liked  the  negro,  and  swore  to  himself  that  if 
Durgo  aided  him  to  marry  Bella,  he  would  stand  by 
him  when  Edwin  Lister  played  the  tyrant.  As  yet — so 
much  Cyril  gathered — the  trader  had  not  shown  the 
cloven  foot,  but  he  would  do  so  sooner  or  later,  and 
then  Cyril  hoped  to  open  Durgo's  eyes  to  the  fact  that 
his  gratitude  was  being  abused. 

But  there  was  much  to  be  done  before  affairs  ar- 
rived at  this  point,  and  the  first  necessary  step  to  take 
was  to  discover  the  whereabouts  of  Edwin  Lister. 
Durgo  had  learned  much  from  Cyril,  and  something 
from  Granny  Tunks;  now  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  be  informed  by  Bella  of  the  accusation  of  Pence, 
and  of  her  doubts  about  the  preacher.  She  resolved  to 
see  Durgo  for  herself,  and  when  Dora  was  at  school, 
she  watched  at  the  window  of  the  cottage  for  the 
coming  of  the  negro.  She  did  not  even  tell  Cyril  of 
her  intention,  as  he  disbelieved  her  statement  that 
Pence  had  stolen  certain  papers  and  was  connected  in 
some  way  with  the  murder.  That  she  had  absolutely 
no  grounds  for  such  a  belief  troubled  Bella  very  little, 
since  she  was  very  much  the  woman.     All  she  knew 


184  THE   SOLITARY  FARM 

was,  that  Pence  could  not  have  heard  the  truth  about 
her  not  being  Huxham's  daughter  from  Huxham  him- 
self and  it  was  necessary  to  find  out  how  he  came  to 
know,  let  alone  the  necessity  of  making  certain  of  its 
truth.  Cyril  would  have  scruples  in  assaulting  Pence, 
and  learning  the  truth  at  the  sword's  point,  as  it  were. 
Durgo,  being  uncivilised,  for  all  his  education  would 
have  no  such  scruples,  and  therefore  was  the  best  per- 
son to  apply  to.  He  would  undoubtedly  twist  Pence's 
slender  neck  as  he  would  that  of  a  rabbit,  if  he  could 
force  from  him  any  information  likely  to  forward 
his  aims.  And  unless  some  such  brutal  course  was 
taken  Bella  felt  sure  that  Pence  would  hold  his  tongue. 
In  her  exasperation  against  the  troublesome  preacher, 
all  the  girl's  worst  traits  came  uppermost. 

Durgo  did  not  pass  along  the  road  in  the  morning, 
and  Bella  almost  despaired  of  seeing  him.  She  nearly 
decided  to  go  to  "The  Chequers  Inn,"  but  a  memory 
of  Mrs.  Giles*  gossiping  tongue  prevented  her  risking 
so  much.  In  the  afternoon,  however,  Durgo  lounged 
along  the  road,  in  his  lazy,  heavy,  massive  fashion, 
arrayed  in  his  rough  tweed  clothes,  and  looking  very 
much  like  a  burly  prize-fighter.  Luckily  there  was  no 
one  in  sight,  as  Miss  Ankers'  cottage  was  in  a  solitary 
corner  on  the  outskirts  of  Marshely,  so  Bella  ran  hat- 
less  into  the  garden  to  beckon  the  negro  into  the 
cottage. 

"Come  in!  come  in!  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  when  he  stepped  up  to  the  white  pal- 
ings ;  and  she  glanced  right  and  left,  to  be  sure  that  no 
curious  eyes  were  on  her. 

Durgo  stared  and  frowned,  as  education  in  a  world- 
famous  University  had  not  quite  eradicated  his  con- 
tempt for  women.  However,  when  Bella  ran  inside 
again,  and  stood  beckoning  him  in  the  passage,  he  re- 
solved to  enter,  if  only  to  learn  why  she  acted  in  this 
bold  way.     So  tall  was  Durgo,  and  so  low  the  door, 


(THE  SOLITARY  FARM  1185 

that  he  had  to  stoop  considerably  to  enter,  and  when  in 
the  little  drawing-room  he  bulked  hugely  as  Gulliver 
in  the  Lilliputian  temple. 

"What  is  it,  missy?"  asked  Durgo  roughly,  for  he 
was  not  inclined  to  waste  his  time  in  saying  pretty 
nothings  to  this  Englishwoman,  when  so  much  was  at 
stake.    "I  cannot  stay  here ;  I  am  busy." 

"I  wish  to  help  you,"  said  Bella,  going  straight  to 
the  point. 

"In  what  way  2"  Durgo  stared  at  her  per- 
emptory tone. 

"I  wish  to  help  you  on  condition  that  you  help  me." 

"In  what  way?"  he  asked  again,  and  sat  down  on 
a  chair,  which  creaked  under  his  mighty  weight. 

"Listen,"  said  Bella,  speaking  very  slowly,  and  with 
her  eyes  on  his  strong,  black  face.  "You  are  not  of 
my  colour  or  race,  yet  I  am  going  to  trust  you,  as 
Cyril  told  me  all  about  you.  Besides,  we  are  both 
working  for  the  same  end — that  is,  we  both  wish  to 
find  Edwin  Lister.  Cyril  told  me  what  Mrs.  Tunks 
discovered." 

"He  had  no  right,"  frowned  Durgo;  "I  want  no 
women " 

"Don't  despise  women,"  said  Bella  drily,  "for  you 
may  need  the  help  of  one  woman,  and  she  is  my  own 
self.  You  know  that  I  am  supposed  to  be  Captain 
Huxham's  daughter?" 

"Supposed  to  be?"  Durgo  noted  the  way  she  placed 
her  words  at  once,  which  said  much  for  his  powers  of 
observation,  and  the  quick  working  of  his  brain. 

"Yes,  Silas  Pence,  the  preacher " 

"I  know  him,  missy.    Go  on." 

"Loves  me,"  continued  Bella,  with  a  blush ;  "and  to 
many  me  he  would  stop  at  nothing.  Last  night  he 
declared  that  I  was  not  the  daughter  of  Captain  Hux- 
ham,  and  that  Captain  Huxham  had  told  him  as 
much." 


i86  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

"Do  you  believe  that?" 

"Yes.  That  is,  I  believe  I  am  not  Captain  Hux- 
ham's  daughter,  since  the  money  was  not  left  to  me. 
But  I  do  not  believe  that  Captain  Huxham  told  this  to 
Silas  Pence.  I  believe,"  Bella  bent  forward,  "that  Mr. 
Pence  is  concerned  in  this  murder,  and  stole  certain 
papers,  which  revealed  the  truth." 

Durgo's  eyes  flashed.  He  saw  at  once  the  value  of 
such  information.  "Can  you  prove  this?"  he  asked 
in  his  throaty  tones. 

"That's  just  where  it  is,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"I  wish  you  to  prove  it." 

"How  can  I  do  that?" 

"Question  Mr.  Pence,  and  make  him  answer.  Force 
him,  in  whatever  way  you  like,  to  show  how  he  act- 
ually obtained  the  information.  If  he  stole  the  papers 
stating  the  fact — and  this  I  believe — he  must  have 
been  in  the  room  where  the  murder  was  committed 
some  hour  during  that  night.  If  so.  he  must  have 
seen  Edwin  Lister,  and  must  know  where  he  is." 

"Hai!"  Durgo  leaped  to  his  feet.  "That  is  true: 
that  is  probable.  Perhaps  he  can  say  if  my  master 
got  the  jewels." 

"Perhaps  he  can,  but  I  am  certain  that  he  will  not." 

"Oh,  I  think  he  will !  I  think  he  will,"  said  Durgo 
significantly. 

"Don't  hurt  him,"  cried  Bella,  alarmed,  for  much 
as  she  disliked  the  preacher  she  did  not  wish  him  to 
come  to  harm  at  the  hands  of  this  African  semi-savage. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  sorry  to  enlist  Durgo's 
services  at  all;  but,  under  the  circumstances,  there 
seemed  to  be  no  help  for  it. 

"I  shall  not  hurt  him  more  than  is  necessary,"  said 
Durgo,  catching  up  his  bowler  hat  and  placing  it  on 
his  woolly  head;  "if  he  speaks  plainly  I  won't  hurt 
him  at  all.  You  have  helped  me,  missy,  and  you  will 
find  that  I  am  not  ungrateful.     When  you  marry  the 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  ,187 

son  of  my  master,  you  will  be  rich.  I,  Durgo,  the 
king,  will  make  you  rich,"  he  ended  arrogantly. 

"One  moment,"  said  Bella,  detaining  him;  "these 
jewels  belong  to  Captain  Huxham.  Have  you  any 
right  to  take  them?" 

"Every  right,  since  they  never  belonged  to  Captain 
Huxham,"  said  the  negro  decisively.  "My  father,  the 
great  chief  Kawal,  gave  them  to  Maxwell  Faith,  and 
from  Maxwell  Faith  they  were  stolen  by  Huxham.  If 
Faith  were  alive  I  would  return  the  jewels  to  him,  and 
ask  him  to  help  me  with  my  expedition.  But  he  is 
dead;  Huxham  murdered  him,  and  stole  the  jewels. 
Edwin  Lister  came  to  get  back  what  belongs  to  me, 
and  I  think  he  has  them." 

"Supposing  you  find  Mr.  Lister,  and  learn  that  he 
has  not  the  jewels?" 

Durgo  rolled  his  eyes  ferociously.  "I  shall  then 
enter  the  Manor-house  by  force,  and  learn  wiicie  they 
are  hidden." 

"You  would  only  be  handed  over  to  the  police  by 
Mrs.  Vand  and  her  husband,  Henry.  It  will  be  better 
for  me  to  search." 

"How  can  you,  since  you  are  not  friendly  with 
Mrs.  Vand?" 

Bella  laughed.  "I  know  much  more  about  the  Manor- 
house  than  Mrs.  Vand  does,  I  assure  you,"  she  said 
significantly.  "There  are  all  manner  of  secret  pas- 
sages and  unknown  chambers  in  that  ancient  mansion. 
If  I  desired  to  enter,  I  could  do  so  in  the  night-time 
by  a  secret  door  hidden  behind  the  ivy  at  the  back  of 
the  house." 

"Then  do  so,"  said  Durgo  eagerly,  "and  search  for 
the  jewels." 

"Not  yet.  Wait  until  you  see  Edwin  Lister,  and 
learn  if  he  procured  the  jewels.  By  the  way,  where 
did  your  father  get  them?" 

Durgo  reflected  for  a  few  minutes.    "I  have  heard 


188  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

much  talk  of  my  father's  treasure,  of  which  these 
jewels  were  part.  You  know  how  rich  the  Northern 
part  of  Africa  was  in  the  time  of  the  Romans?'' 

"Yes.    Cyril  made  me  read  Gibbons'  History." 

"Well,  when  the  Arabs  swept  across  Northern 
Africa,  they  looted  the  Roman  cities,  then  possessed 
more  or  less  by  the  Goths  and  Vandals.  Many  of 
the  Arabs  came  South  to  Nigeria,  and  brought  their 
plunder  with  them.  I  think  that  these  jewels, 
which  my  father  gave  to  Maxwell  Faith,  came  into  his 
possession  from  some  remote  ancestor,  who  so  brought 
them.    But  I  cannot  say.    Still,  that  is  my  opinion." 

"It  is  a  feasible  idea,  certainly/'  said  Bella  musingly, 
and  astonished  at  the  knowledge  of  the  negro,  quite 
forgetting  that  he  had  been  educated  at  Oxford ;  "but 
where  the  jewels  came  from,  matters  little.  What  we 
have  to  find  out,  is  where  they  are,  and  Mr.  Pence " 

"I  shdl  see  this  man,"  interrupted  Durgo  quietly; 
"he  may  lie  to  others :  he  will  tell  the  truth  to  me." 

"No  violence,"  warned  Bella  anxiously. 

Durgo  nodded.  "I  fear  your  police  too  much,"  said 
he,  with  an  ironical  grin,  and  strode  out  of  the  house, 
looking  more  burly  and  defiant  than  ever.  Bella  had 
regretted  her  employment  of  his  services,  but  what  else 
could  she  do  when  so  much  was  at  stake?  Bella  wished 
to  marry  Cyril,  and,  to  do  so,  desired  to  be  certain  that 
she  was  not  Captain  Huxham's  daughter.  The  papers 
— if  her  wild  surmise  was  correct — would  prove  if 
what  Pence  said  was  true.  Then,  since  Cyril's  father 
had  not  murdered  her  father — she  put  it  in  this  con- 
fused way — she  would  be  able  to  marry  her  lover  with 
a  clear  conscience.  That  he  might  be  the  son  of  an 
assassin  troubled  her  very  little.  To  get  her  way  after 
the  manner  of  a  woman  deeply  in  love,  she  would  have 
set  the  world  on  fire,  or  would  have  wrecked  the  solar 
system.  And  in  placing  the  safety  of  Pence  in  the 
hands  of  a  semi-civilised  negro,  she  undoubtedly  was 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  1189 

risking  his  life.  But  she  did  not  care,  so  long  as  she 
attained  to  the  knowledge  which  she  was  confident  he 
possessed. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Bella  Huxham  was  no  Sunday- 
school  angel,  or  even  the  amiable  heroine  of  a  Family 
Herald  novelette,  who  never  by  any  chance  does 
wrong.  She  was  simply  an  average  girl,  with  good 
instincts,  brought  up  so  far  as  school-training  was 
concerned  in  a  conventional  way.  At  home  no  one 
had  taught  her  to  discern  right  from  wrong,  and,  like 
the  ordinary  healthy  young  animal  of  the  human  race, 
she  had  not  passed  through  sufficient  sorrow  to  make 
her  inquire  into  the  truths  of  religion.  Bella  needed 
trouble  to  train  her  into  a  good,  brave  woman,  and 
she  was  certainly  getting  the  training  now.  But  she 
made  mistakes,  as  was  natural,  considering  her  in- 
experience. 

That7 same  evening,  Mr.  Silas  Pence  was  seated 
in  his  shabby  sitting-room,  making  notes  for  his  next 
Sunday  sermon.  He  occupied  lodgings  in  a  lonely 
cottage  on  the  verge  of  the  common,  and  did  so  because 
his  landlady  was  a  member  of  the  Little  Bethel  con- 
gregation, who  boarded  and  lodged  him  cheaply  in  or- 
der to  have  the  glory  of  entertaining  the  minister. 
The  landlady  was  a  heavy-footed,  heavy-faced  woman, 
with  two  great  hulking  sons,  and  occupied  the  back 
part  of  the  premises.  Silas  inhabited  the  best  sitting- 
room  and  the  most  comfortable  bedroom.  There  was 
no  fence  round  the  front  of  the  cottage,  although  there 
was  a  garden  of  vegetables  at  the  back,  so  the  sitting- 
room  window  looked  straight  out  on  to  the  purple 
heather  and  golden  gorse  of  the  waste  land.  An  artist 
would  have  delighted  in  the  view,  but  Silas  had  no  eye 
for  anything  beautiful  in  nature,  and  paid  very  little 
attention  to  the  changing  glories  of  the  year.  The 
lodging  was  cheap,  and  the  situation  healthy,  so  he  was 
perfectly  satisfied. 


190  THE    SOLITARY    FARM 

On  this  especial  evening,  the  young  preacher  sat 
at  the  red-repp  covered  table,  reading  his  Bible  and 
making  his  notes.  It  was  after  ten  o'clock,  and  his 
landlady  was  asleep,  as  were  her  two  sons,  both  agri- 
cultural labourers  worn  out  with  the  heavy  toils  of  the 
day.  The  sitting-room  window  was  wide  open,  and 
the  blind  was  up,  so  that  the  cool  night  breeze  was 
wafted  faintly  into  the  somewhat  stuffy  room,  which 
was  crowded  with  unnecessary  furniture.  Silas  made 
a  few  notes,  then  threw  down  his  pencil  and  sighed, 
resting  his  weary  head  on  his  hand. 

Pence  was  by  no  means  a  bad  man,  but  he  was  weak 
and  excitable.  The  pursuit  of  Bella  aroused  the  worst 
part  of  his  nature,  and  made  him  think,  say,  and  do 
much  which  he  condemned.  The  better  part  of  him  ob- 
jected to  a  great  deal  which  he  did,  but  the  tide  of  his 
passion  hurried  him  away  and  could  not  be  checked  by 
the  dykes  of  common-sense.  At  times — and  this  was 
one  of  them — he  bitterly  blamed  himself  for  giving 
way  to  the  desire  for  Hepzibah,  as  he  called  Bella  Hux- 
ham,  in  his  own  weak  mind.  But,  sane  in  all  other 
ways,  he  was  insane  on  this  one  point,  and  felt  that  he 
would  jeopardise  his  chance  of  salvation  to  call  her 
wife.  Nevertheless  he  was  sane  enough  to  know  his 
insanity,  and  would  have  given  much  to  root  out  the 
fierce  love  which  was  destroying  his  life. 

But  the  insane  passion  which  he  cherished  for  a 
woman  who  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  led 
him  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  mire  of  sin,  and  in  spite 
of  his  prayers  and  cries  for  help,  the  Unseen  would  do 
nothing  to  extricate  him  from  the  morass  of  difficulties 
into  which  he  had  plunged  himself.  At  times  Silas 
even  doubted  if  God  existed,  so  futile  were  his  at- 
tempts to  gain  comfort  and  guidance.  Much  as  he 
loved  Bella,  he  desired  to  win  clear  of  the  unwilling 
influence  which  she  exercised  on  his  nature,  and  vainly 
prayed  for  light  whereby  to  know  the  necessary  means 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  .191 

to  get  rid  of  the  tormenting  demon.  But  no  answer 
came,  and  he  relapsed  into  despair,  wondering  what  his 
congregation  would  say  if  any  member  knew  the  un- 
mastered  temptations  of  his  inner  life.  The  struggle 
made  him  weak  and  ill  and  thin  and  nervous,  and  but 
that  deep  in  his  heart  he  knew  vaguely  that  God  was 
watching  over  him,  and  would  aid  at  the  proper  time, 
he  would  have  taken  his  own  miserable  life. 

With  his  head  buried  in  his  hands,  Silas  thought 
thus,  with  many  groans  and  with  many  bitter  tears, 
the  shedding  of  which  made  his  eyes  burn.  Occu- 
pied with  his  misery,  he  did  not  see  a  dark,  massive 
form  glide  towards  the  open  window,  nor  did  he  hear 
a  sound,  for  Durgo  stepped  as  light-footed  as  a  cat. 
The  sill  of  the  window  was  no  great  distance  from 
the  ground,  and  the  big  negro  flung  his  leg  over  the 
sill  and  into  the  room.  But  in  getting  hastily  through, 
he  was  so  large  and  the  window  so  small,  that  he  made 
a  sliding  noise  as  the  window  slipped  still  further  up. 
Silas  started  to  his  feet,  but  only  to  see  Durgo  com- 
pletely in  the  room,  facing  him  with  a  grim  smile. 

"I  have  come  to  speak  with  you,  sir,"  said  the 
negro. 

Silas  turned  white,  being  haunted  by  a  fear  known 
only  to  himself.  But  he  read  in  the  eyes  of  this  black 
burglar — or,  rather,  he  guessed  by  some  wonderful 
intuition,  that  his  fear  and  the  cause  of  his  fear  were 
known  to  this  man.  Durgo  saw  the  look  in  the 
preacher's  eyes,  and  read  his  thoughts  in  his  turn.  The 
negro  was  not  boasting  when  he  hinted  that  he  pos- 
sessed certain  psychic  power.  "Yes,"  he  said,  keeping 
his  burning  gaze  directly  on  the  miserable  white  man ; 
"you  stole  papers  from  Captain  Huxham's  room,  and 
I " 

"I  did  not,"  interrupted  Pence  wildly,  and  making 
a  clutch  at  his  breast  coat-pocket.    "How  dare  you — " 

"The  papers  are  in  your  pocket,"  interrupted  Durgo, 


192  THE   SOLITARY  FARM 

advancing,  as  he  noted  the  unconscious  action  and 
guessed  its  significance.    "Give  me  those  papers." 

"I  have  no  papers.    I  will  alarm  the  house " 

"Do  so,  and  you  shall  be  arrested." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"You  saw  my  master,  Edwin  Lister,  enter  the 
Manor-house,  and  thought  that  he  was  his  son.  Cyril 
Lister  told  me  as  much.  From  what  you  said  to  Miss 
Huxham  about  her  not  being  the  daughter  of  the 
sailor,  I  believe  that  you  followed  my  master  into  the 
house.    What  took  place?" 

"Nothing!  nothing!    I  swear  that  I  did  not " 

"Those  papers,"  said  Durgo,  pointing  to  the  white 
hand  which  still  clutched  feebly  at  the  breast-pocket, 
"say  that  the  girl  is  not  Captain  Huxham's  daughter. 
I  want  to  know  whose  daughter  she  is." 

"You  are  talking  rubbish.    I  have  no  papers." 

"I  am  making  a  guess,  and  I  believe  my  guess  is 
a  true  one.  Will  you  give  up  those  papers,  or  must 
I  wring  your  neck?" 

With  widely-open  eyes,  the  preacher  flung  himself 
against  the  mantel-piece  and  clutched  at  a  hand-bell. 
Just  as  he  managed  to  ring  this  feebly,  for  his  hands 
were  shaking,  and  he  was  utterly  unnerved,  Durgo, 
seeing  that  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  sprang  forward 
and  laid  a  heavy  grasp  on  the  miserable  man's  throat, 
ripping  open  his  jacket  with  the  other  hand.  In  less 
than  a  minute  he  had  the  papers  in  his  hand. 

"No!  no!  no!"  shouted  Silas,  and  made  a  clutch 
at  them. 

Durgo  thrust  the  papers  into  his  pocket,  and  raising 
Pence  up  shoulder  high,  dashed  him  down  furiously. 
His  head  struck  the  edge  of  the  fender,  and  he  lay  un- 
conscious. But  Durgo  did  not  wait  to  see  further.  He 
glided  out  of  the  window  like  a  snake — swift,  silent, 
stealthy,  and  dangerous. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE   PAPERS. 

Next  morning  the  news  was  all  over  the  village,  that 
Silas  Pence  had  been  seized  with  epilepsy,  and  in  fall- 
ing had  cut  his  head  open  against  the  old-fashioned 
fender.  He  had  just  time — said  the  gossips — to  ring 
the  bell  before  the  catastrophe,  and  the  landlady  being, 
fortunately,  awake,  had  rushed  into  the  room  to  his 
assistance.  In  an  hour  he  had  become  conscious,  and 
had  been  put  to  bed,  after  giving  the  explanation  of 
how  he  came  by  the  wound  in  his  head.  As  Silas  was 
fairly  popular,  everyone  was  more  or  less  sorry, 
and  many  were  the  callers  at  the  cottage  on  the 
common. 

Dora  heard  the  news  from  one  of  her  scholars,  and 
retailed  it  to  her  friend  when  she  came  home  to 
luncheon.  Bella  turned  pale  when  she  heard  of  the 
affair.  She  guessed  that  this  was  the  work  of 
Durgo,  and  reproached  herself  for  having  enlisted 
his  services.  But  then,  she  argued,  that  if  Durgo 
really  was  responsible  for  the  preacher's  sickness,  he 
would  have  appeared  in  Miss  Ankers'  cottage  in  the 
morning,  to  explain  what  had  taken  place,  and  possibly 
— supposing  he  had  been  successful — to  show  the 
papers.  Then  again,  if  this  was  Durgo's  work,  Bella 
wondered  why  the  preacher  had  not  denounced  him. 
It  seemed  to  her,  on  this  assumption,  that  Pence  feared 
to  say  too  much,  lest  he  should  be  questioned  too 
closely.  Dora  certainly  had  no  more  suspicions  than 
had  anyone  else,  but  what  the  story  of  the  young  man 
was  absolutely  true. 

"He  never  did  look  healthy,"  said  Dora,  when  the 


194  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

meal  was  ended,  "so  I  am  not  surprised  to  hear  that 
he  has  these  epileptic  fits." 

"Perhaps  he'll  get  over  them,"  hinted  Bella  feebly, 
and  not  looking  at  her  friend,  lest  she  should  betray 
herself. 

"My  dear,  people  with  epilepsy  never  recover,"  re- 
buked Dora  seriously,  "and  I  wonder  that  the  man 
dared  to  ask  you  to  marry  him,  seeing  what  he  suffered 
from.  What  a  terrible  thing  to  have  a  husband  with 
fits." 

"Are  you  sure  that  it  was  a  fit?"  asked  Bella,  try- 
ing to  salve  her  conscience  with  the  idea  that 
Durgo  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter — a  vain 
attempt.  _ 

"My  dear,  am  I  sure  that  the  hair  grows  on  my 
kead?  Of  course,  I  am  sure.  The  man  himself 
explained  how  he  fell,  just  as  he  clutched  at  the 
bell.  He  hit  his  poor  head  against  the  iron  fender — 
you  know,  dear,  one  of  those  old-fashioned  kitchen 
fenders,  now  out  of  date.  It's  a  mercy  there  was  no 
fire  in  the  grate,  or  he  would  have  been  burnt  to  death. 
Why,  a  cousin  of  mine  once" — and  Dora  went  off  into 
a  long  and  wearisome  tale  of  a  member  of  her  family 
who  had  suffered  in  the  same  way. 

When  the  little  old  school-mistress  returned  to  her 
duties,  Bella  sat  down  to  consider  things.  On  the  face 
of  it,  Durgo  had  done  nothing,  and  Silas  really  might 
suffer  from  fits.  But  as  he  had  never  fallen  before, 
and  as  Bella  knew  that  Durgo  would  stop  at  nothing 
to  get  the  papers,  which  she  believed  existed,  she  be- 
gan to  believe  that  the  fall  was  by  design  and  not  by 
accident.  This  belief  taking  full  possession  of  her, 
she  longed  feverishly  to  see  the  negro,  and  to  ask 
questions.  But,  although  she  watched  for  quite  two 
hours  at  the  window,  he  never  appeared.  Then — as 
her  nerves  were  strung  up  nearly  to  snapping  pitch — 
she  determined  to  call  round  at  Cyril's  lodgings  and 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  J95 

tell  him  of  her  interview  with  the  black  man.  For  the 
moment,  she  was  unwilling  to  do  this,  as  she  guessed 
that  Cyril  would  be  angry.  Still,  as  it  was  more  or 
less  certain  that  Durgo  himself  would  tell  her  lover — 
always  supposing  the  papers  existed  and  had  been  ob- 
tained— Bella  thought  it  would  be  wiser  to  be  first  in 
the  field  with  her  story.  Besides,  in  any  case,  she 
would  have  to  confess  to  Cyril,  so  why  not  now  ?  The 
only  chance  of  getting  at  the  truth  of  the  matter  of 
the  murder  lay  in  herself  and  Durgo  and  Cyril  work- 
ing amicably  together,  and  in  keeping  nothing  back 
from  one  another. 

There  was  a  certain  amount  of  risk  in  going  to 
Cyril's  lodgings,  as  his  landlady,  Mrs.  Block,  was 
one  of  the  most  notrious  gossips  in  the  village.  She 
would  be  certain  to  talk  of  the  visit,  and  to  make  un- 
kind comments  on  the  fact  of  a  young  lady  choosing 
to  visit  a  bachelor  without  a  chaperon.  And  a  chape- 
ron Bella  could  not  have,  since  she  wished  no  one  else 
to  be  present  during  her  conversation  with  Cyril.  A 
third  party  would  mean  that  she  would  be  unable  to 
speak  plainly  and  all  knowledge  of  the  case — inner 
knowledge  that  is — must  be  confined  to  herself,  her 
lover,  and  to  the  negro.  It  would  never  do  to  let  the 
outside  world  know  of  the  means  they  were  taking  to 
arrive  at  the  truth,  and  a  chaperon  might  easily  play 
the  part  of  a  she-Judas. 

And  after  all — as  Bella  reflected,  when  hurrying 
along  the  road — she  had  no  one  to  consider  but  her- 
self, since  it  mattered  very  little  what  was  said  about 
her,  so  long  as  Cyril  was  true.  She  was  at  war  with 
her  aunt — if,  indeed,  Mrs.  Vand  was  her  aunt — she 
had  no  friend  but  Dora,  and  there  was  really  no  person 
whom  she  desired  to  conciliate.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, she  took  her  courage  in  both  hands  and  with 
a  calm  face,  but  with  her  heart  in  her  mouth,  she  rap- 
ped at  the  door  of  Lister's  lodgings.    Luckily  he  had 


ig6  THE   SOLITARY    FARM 

observed  her  from  the  window,  and  opened  the  door 
himself. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  Bella,"  he  said,  shaking 
hands  in  a  conventional  manner,  as  the  stout  form  of 
Mrs.  Block  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  "for  I 
was  just  coming  round  to  propose  a  walk  on  the  com- 
mon." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  day,"  said  Bella,  likewise  conven- 
tional. 

"Very.  Wait  until  I  get  my  hat  and  stick.  Mrs. 
Block,  if  anyone  calls,  I  am  going  to  the  common  with 
Miss  Huxham." 

"And  a  very  lovely  sweet  walk  it  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Block,  coming  nearer  to  see  if  Bella  was  dressed  in 
sufficiently  deep  mourning  for  her  presumed  father,  as 
I  said  to  Block,  if  he'd  only  make  the  money  a  man 
like  him  ought  to  make,  I'd  be  strolling  on  that  there 
common,  dressed  up  as  fine  as  nine-pence.  But  there, 
you  never  get  what  you  want  in  this  world,  and 
ain't  it  dreadful,  Miss  Huxham,  about  poor  Mr. 
Pence?" 

"Very  dreadful!"  assented  Bella  politely,  then  as 
Cyril  was  ready,  she  went  with  him  out  of  the  gate, 
leaving  Mrs.  Block  looking  after  them.  Luckily  for 
the  couple,  Mrs.  Block  had  nothing  to  say  against 
the  visit.  Indeed  it  was  in  her  heavy  mind  that 
Cyril,  having  failed  to  take  Bella  out  as  promised, 
had  been  called  upon  by  a  young  lady  weary  of 
waiting. 

"So  like  a  man,"  soliloquised  Mrs.  Block,  standing 
on  her  door-step,  broom  in  hand,  "they  never  thinks, 
never,  never!  And  if  this  Mr.  Lister  commences  ne- 
glect afore  marriage,  what  will  it  be  when  the  honey- 
moon's over.  Ah,  poor  Miss  Huxham!  what  with  her 
pa  dying,  and  her  aunt  robbing,  and  him  as  should 
love  her  neglecting — it's  a  miserable  life  she'll  have. 
Ah,  well,  there's  always  the  grave  to  look  forward  to," 


THE    SOLITARY    FARM  197 

and  ending  her  soliloquy  thus  cheerfully,  Mrs.  Block 
entered  the  house  and  shut  the  door  with  a  bang. 

Meanwhile  the  lovers,  quite  ignorant  of  Mrs.  Block's 
opinion,  walked  along  the  village  street,  and  soon 
emerged  on  to  the  common.  They  passed  the  cottage 
wherein  Silas  Pence  lodged,  and  this  recalled  the  epi- 
sode of  the  so-called  fit  to  Cyril,  as  he  had  heard  all 
particulars  from  his  garrulous  landlady.  "I'm  sorry 
for  Pence,"  said  Cyril,  glancing  at  the  cottage. 

"Why?"  asked  Bella  nervously. 

"It's  such  an  awful  thing  for  a  person  to  have  fits. 
If  I'd  known  that  I  should  not  have  pitched  him  over 
the  fence  last  night.  Of  course,  he's  a  rotter,  and  a 
blighter,  and  a  nuisance ;  but  he's  weak,  and  I  shouldn't 
have  treated  him  so  roughly.  I  only  hope,"  said  Cyril 
gloomily,  "that  it  wasn't  the  fall  I  gave  him  which 
brought  about  this  beastly  fit." 

"You  can  be  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  Bella  sharply; 
"in  fact,"  she  hesitated,  then  spoke  out  boldly,  "I  don't 
believe  he  had  a  fit." 

"My  dearest  girl,  he  said  so  himself,  according  to 
Mrs.  Block." 

"I  know  he  did,  as  Dora  told  me.  And  that 
makes  me  the  more  certain  of  his  connection  with  the 
murder  of  my  father.  I  suppose  I  must  call-  Captain 
Huxham  my  father  until  I  am  certain  of  the  truth  of 
what  Mr.  Pence  said." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  said 
Cyril,  stopping  to  stare  at  the  down-cast,  flushed  face 
under  the  black  hat.  "Why  should  Pence  tell  a  lie 
about  his  fall?" 

"Because  he  didn't  want  anyone  to  know  that  Durgo 
had  thrown  him  down." 

Cyril  stared  harder.  "Would  you  mind  explain- 
ing?" he  said  politely,  "I  still  cannot  understand  your 
meaning." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  understand  myself,"  she  re- 


19S  THE    SOLITARY   FARM 

plied  nervously.  "The  fact  is,  Cyril,  I  believe  that 
Durgo  threw  Mr.  Pence  down  when  he  refused  to  give 
up  those  papers." 

''What  papers?"  asked  Lister,  still  bewildered. 

"The  papers  which  tell  the  truth  about  me." 

"But,  my  dear  girl,  that  is  all  supposition.  We  don't 
know  if  any  papers  exist,  after  all.  Pence  may  have 
spoken  at  random." 

"You  believed  that  he  spoke  the  truth." 

"I  did.  I  want  to  believe,  as  only  by  learning  that 
you  are  not  Captain  Huxham's  daughter  can  we 
marry,"  said  Cyril  dismally;  "but  the  wish  is  father 
to  the  thought,  in  my  case." 

"Well,"  said  Bella,  plunging  into  her  confession, 
"you  had  better  ask  Durgo  if  he  assaulted  Mr.  Pence 
last  night." 

"Why  should  he?" 

"I  asked  him  to." 

Cyril,  who  had  walked  on,  stopped  once  more  and 
stared.    "You  asked  him  to?" 

"Yes."  Bella  was  less  nervous  now.  "I  told  him 
all  that  Mr.  Pence  said,  and  suggested  that  he  should 
get  the  papers." 

Cyril's  face  grew  stern,  as  she  knew  it  would.  "Tell 
me  everything  that  passed  between  you  and  that  nig- 
ger." 

"I  have  not  said  that  I  saw  him,"  said  Bella 
evasively. 

"You  could  scarcely  have  asked  him  to  assault 
Pence,  unless  you  had  seen  him,"  retorted  Cyril,  who 
looked  displeased,  "come,  be  frank.    Tell  me  all." 

Bella  did  so,  omitting  nothing,  although  she  every 
now  and  then  stole  a  glance  at  Cyril's  compressed 
lips  and  corrugated  brow.  At  the  end  of  her  explana- 
tion he  looked  up,  and  his  eyes  were  hard.  "You  have 
acted  very  wrongly,"  he  said  sternly. 

"I  know  I  have:  I  admit  as  much,"  said  the  girl 


THE    SOLITARY   FARM  .199 

penitently,  "but,  after  all,  I  only  asked  him  to  get  the 
papers.    I  did  not  tell  him  to  hurt  Mr.  Pence." 

Cyril  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "You  should  not 
have  seen  this  infernal  nigger.  I  don't  like  any  white 
woman  to  talk  to  niggers." 

"I  don't  like  them  myself,"  said  Bella  quietly,  "and 
you  may  be  sure,  had  I  not  been  anxious  to  learn  the 
truth,  I  should  not  have  spoken  to  Durgo." 

"You  could  have  asked  me  to  speak." 

"Would  you  have  done  so,  seeing  that  you  did  not 
believe  that  the  papers  existed?" 

"Nor  do  I  believe  now,"  replied  Cyril,  walking  on 
quickly.    "It  is  all  guess  work  on  your  part." 

"No,  no,  no!"  insisted  the  girl,  as  they  arrived  at 
their  favourite  spot  under  a  giant  gorse  bush;  "the 
mere  fact  that  Mr.  Pence  told  a  lie  about  his  injury 
shows  me  that  I  am  right." 

"We  don't  know  for  certain  that  he  met  with  his 
injury  at  Durgo's  hands." 

"Then  I  have  done  no  wrong,"  said  Bella  promptly. 

"Indeed  you  have,"  said  Cyril  in  vexed  tones,  as 
they  sat  down.  "You  spurred  on  that  infernal  nigger 
to  do  what  was  wrong." 

"I  understood  that  you  liked  Durgo,  and  thought 
him  a  well-educated  man." 

"So  I  do  like  him ;  so  I  do  consider  him  wonderfully 
well  educated.  He  is  an  Oxford  M.A.,  you  know. 
But  I  daresay  if  you  scratched  him  you  would  find  that 
he  is  a  common  nigger  after  all." 

"The  son  of  a  king?" 

"An  African  king.  Pooh !  what's  that  ?  You  must 
promise  me,  Bella,  not  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  him." 

"But  I  have  promised  to  seek  for  the  jewels  in  the 
Manor-house,"  and  Bella  went  on  to  state  how  she 
could  enter  Bleacres  by  the  secret  door.  Cyril  nodded 
and  approved  of  the  idea. 


200  THE   SOLITARY   FARM 

"But  you  must  come  to  me  and  tell  me  what  you 
find  out.  I  don't  want  you  to  speak  to  Durgo  more 
than  you  can  help." 

"That  is  racial  instinct  and  injustice." 

"Racial  instinct  is  never  unjust.  I  don't  care  if 
Durgo  was  a  black  Homer  and  Bismark  and  Napoleon 
rolled  into  one.  He  is  a  man  of  colour,  and  I  detest  the 
breed.  Promise  not  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him 
— at  all  events  unless  I  am  present." 

"I  promise  if  you  will  not  scold  so  much,"  said 
Bella  wilfully. 

"I  am  not  scolding.    If  I  did  you  would  cry." 

The  girl  slipped  her  arm  within  that  of  her  lover's, 
pleased  to  have  escaped  so  easily.  "I  begin  to  think 
that  I  am  marrying  a  tyrant." 

"You  are  marrying  a  man  who  loves  you,  and  who 
wants  to  protect  you  from  all  dangers.  Oh,  Bella, 
Bella!  I  wish  we  could  go  away  to  London  and  get 
married  quietly.  Then  we  could  go  to  Australia  and 
leave  this  bad  past  behind.  Will  you  come?  I  have 
money  enough  for  a  year,  and  by  that  time  I'll  be  able 
to  get  something  to  do  in  Melbourne  or  Sydney." 

Bella  shook  her  head.  "Dear,  I  love  you  dearly, 
but  I  can't  marry  you  until  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  am 
not  Captain  Huxham's  daughter." 

"In  any  case,"  said  Cyril  bitterly,  "You  will  marry 
the  son  of  a  man  who  has  committed  a  murder." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Now  that  Mr.  Pence 
has  told  a  lie  I  think  that  he  may  have  something  to 
do  with  the  matter.    He  may  be  guilty." 

Cyril  groaned.  "I  have  no  ill-will  towards  Pence, 
in  spite  of  his  insolence  to  you.  but  for  the  sake  of 
my  name  I  wish  I  could  think  so." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
Bella,  who  was  looking  along  the  path,  spoke  to  her 
lover  in  a  frightened  whisper.    "Here  is  Durgo !" 

And  indeed  it  was.     The  negro  swung  along  bluff, 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  201 

Heavy  and  ponderous.  He  was  in  dark  clothes,  and 
these,  with  his  black  face,  made  him  look  like  a  blot 
on  the  sunshiny  beauty  of  the  summer  world.  At  once, 
with  his  keen  eyesight,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
lovers  and  strode  towards  them,  smiling  and  bland. 
Cyril  nodded  coldly.  He  could  not  forgive  the  black 
man's  impertinence  in  speaking  to  Bella,  quite  forget- 
ting that  Bella  was  to  blame  and  had  sought  the  inter- 
view. Bella  herself,  remembering  Cyril's  warning  and 
her  own  promise,  did  not  dare  to  welcome  the  man. 

"I  went  to  see  you,"  said  Durgo,  addressing  Cyril, 
"and  your  landlady  told  me  that  you  had  gone  to  the 
common  with  Miss  Huxham.  I  followed.  I  am  glad 
to  find  you  both  together.    I  have  much  to  say." 

Bella  could  not  contain  her  curiosity.  "Did 
you " 

"Yes,"  said  Durgo  coolly,  "I  did.  He  would  have 
made  a  noise,  so  I  had  to  dash  him  to  the  ground. 
He  hit  his  head  against  the  fender.  Mrs.  Giles,"  he 
added  with  a  grim  laugh,  "tells  me  that  he  accounts 
for  the  knock  on  his  head  by  saying  that  he  had  a  fit." 

"What  do  you  make  out  of  that?"  asked  Cyril,  cast- 
ing a  glance  at  Bella  warning  her  to  hold  her  tongue. 

"Oh" — Durgo  glanced  from  one  to  the  other — "so 
Miss  Huxham  has  told  you?" 

"About  her  interview  ?  Yes !  I  am  sorry  you  took 
her  advice  and  saw  Pence,  for  I  knew  that  ill  would 
come  of  it." 

Durgo  leisurely  took  a  bundle  of  papers  from  his 
pocket.  "Much  good  has  come  of  it,  as  I  am  here  to 
explain,"  said  he  quietly.  "You  were  right,  Miss  Hux- 
ham. Pence  had  certain  papers  stolen  from  Captain 
Huxham's  safe." 

"Then  he  is  guilty  of  the " 

"I  can't  be  certain  of  that."  interrupted  the  negro 
sharply.  "I  had  no  time  to  question  Pence.  As  soon 
as  I  got  the  papers  which  he  carried  in  his  breast-coat 


202  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

pocket  I  slipped  through  the  window.  Lucky  that  I  did 
so,  for  his  landlady  came  in  almost  immediately  in 
answer  to  the  ring  of  the  handbell.  If  he  hadn't 
sounded  it  I  should  not  have  rendered  him  insensible, 
but  I  had  to  do  so  for  my  own  safety." 

''Well,  well,  well!"  said  Cyril  impatiently,  and  look- 
ing at  the  papers,  "we  can  talk  of  this  later.  You  say 
that  Miss  Huxham's  guess  is  correct?" 

"It  is.  And  I  congratulate  Miss  Huxham  on  her 
clever  brain.  Pence  was  certainly  a  fool  to  say  as  much 
as  he  did,  and  especially  to  so  talented  a  lady  who 
guessed " 

"There!  there!  No  more  compliments.  Tell  us 
both  at  once.  Did  he  speak  truly  when  he  stated  that 
Miss  Huxham  was  not  the  captain's  daughter?" 

"He  spoke  absolutely  truly,  as  you  will  find  when 
you  read  this,"  and  Durgo  placed  a  bulky  roll  of  paper 
in  Bella's  hands. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  flushing  a  bright  pink,  "how  glad  I 
am.  But  whose  daughter  am  I?"  and  she  made  to 
open  the  paper. 

Cyril  laid  his  hand  on  the  bundle.  "We  haven't  time 
to  read  all  that  now,"  he  said  gruffly.  "Tell  us  shortly 
what  you  have  discovered,  Durgo?" 

The  negro  nodded,  and  addressed  himself  to  the  girl. 
"Your  name  is  Isabella  Faith,"  he  stated,  "and  you  are 
the  daughter  of  Maxwell  Faith,  who  was  my  father 
Kawal's  firm  friend." 

The  lovers  looked  at  one  another.  "But  how  did  I 
come  to  pass  as  Captain  Huxham's  daughter?"  she 
asked  breathlessly. 

Durgo  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "So  far  as  I  can  read 
the  story,  which  Captain  Huxham  has  set  down  in  that 
bundle  you  hold,  he  was  smitten  with  compunction  for 
having  murdered  your  father  and  so  adopted  you." 

Bella  shuddered.  "How  terrible  to  have  lived  with 
such  a  wicked  old  man,"  she  said.    "I  never  liked  Cap- 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  203 

tain  Huxham,  but  thinking  him  my  father  I  tried  my 
best  to  do  my  duty.  No  wonder  he  would  not  leave 
the  property  to  me !" 

"I  think  he  intended  to  leave  you  the  jewels, 
though,"  said  Durgo,  thoughtfully.  "He  mentions  in 
those  papers  that  he  intended  to  make  a  will  leaving 
them  to  you,  since  his  sister,  Mrs.  Vand,  claimed 
Bleacres  and  his  income.  It's  my  opinion  that  Mrs. 
Vand  learned  how  her  brother  had  murdered  Maxwell 
Faith,  and  so  forced  him  to  make  that  will." 

"Then  the  jewels  really  belong  to  you,  Bella?" 

"Yes,"  said  Durgo,  rising  and  making  a  courteous 
bow.  "And  when  we  find  Edwin  Lister,  my  master, 
he  shall  restore  the  jewels." 

"But  your  expedition?"  asked  Bella  in  surprise. 

The  negro  looked  at  the  lovers  humorously.  "I 
fear  that  there  will  be  no  expedition,"  he  said  seriously. 
"I  cannot  rob  you  of  your  fortune,  Miss  Faith.  Marry 
our  friend  here  and  be  happy." 

"But  what  will  you  do?"  asked  Cyril,  touched  by 
this  self-abnegation. 

Durgo  shrugged  his  shoulders  again.  "I  shall  search 
out  Edwin  Lister  and  return  to  Africa.  In  one  way 
or  another  I  daresay  we  can  manage  to  get  back  to  my 
tribe.  Then  I  shall  measure  my  strength  and  education 
against  my  cousin,  who  is  wrongfully  chief.  For  the 
rest,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said.  The  papers  you  have, 
Miss  Faith,  will  prove  your  birth  and  reveal  all  the 
doings  of  Huxham.  There  is  no  more  for  me  to  do, 
so  I  shall  bid  you  both  good-day  and  wish  you  all 
good  luck." 

The  lovers  stared  to  one  another  and  then  at  the  re- 
treating form  of  Durgo,  who  had  so  delicately  left 
them  together.    It  was  Cyril  who  spoke  first. 

"He  is  a  good  fellow,  after  all,"  he  said.  "That 
black  skin  covers  a  white  heart.  Oh!  Bella,  how 
strange  it  all  is." 


204  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"Take  me  home  said  the  girl  faintly,  and  with  white 
cheeks.  "I  can  bear  no  more  at  present.  Isabella  Faith 
is  my  name  now " 

"Until  you  change  it  to  that  of  Isabella  Lister,"  said 
Cyril,  kissing  her. 

But  she  only  wept  the  more,  broken  down  by  the 
unexpected  revelation. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   CONFESSION 

On  the  way  home  from  the  common,  Cyril  and  Bella 
agreed  that  it  would  be  wise  to  say  nothing  about  her 
true  parentage.  In  the  first  place,  it  would  benefit  no 
one  to  be  thus  candid,  and  in  the  second,  such  a  state- 
ment would  lead  to  questions  being  asked  which  might 
get  Durgo  into  trouble.  After  all,  the  lovers  argued, 
since  Pence,  as  the  chief  party,  did  not  move  in  the 
matter,  it  was  useless  for  them  to  fight  his  battles.  The 
more  particularly  when  Durgo  had  acted  so  generous- 
ly in  surrendering  the  jewels.  The  black  man  had 
behaved  in  a  way  for  which  Cyril  would  not  have 
given  him  credit.  Few  members  of  the  boasting  white 
race  would  have  done  as  much. 

According  to  the  arrangement  which  the  lovers 
came  to,  Bella  was  to  remain  Miss  Huxham  to  the 
world  until  such  time  as  Edwin  Lister  could  be  found, 
and  the  truth  of  Huxham's  death  became  known.  Of 
course,  with  jewels  valued  at  forty  thousand  pounds, 
the  girl  was  quite  an  heiress,  and  she  proceeded  to 
build  castles  in  the  air  for  the  advancement  of  Cyril, 
when  he  became  her  husband.  The  young  man  did 
not  say  much,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  damp  her  ardour, 
but  he  privately  thought  that  if  his  father  were  in  pos- 
session of  the  jewels  he  would  not  surrender  them 
easily.  If  Durgo  was  generous,  Edwin  Lister,  as  his 
son  knew,  was  not,  and  since  he  had  risked  his  neck 
to  get  the  treasure  he  would  certainly  not  hand  it  over 
to  a  girl  whom  he  did  not  know,  for  a  mere  sentimen- 
tal whim.    That  the  girl  was  to  be  his  son's  wife,  and 


206  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

that  the  son  would  benefit  by  the  sale  of  the  jewels, 
would  make  no  difference. 

On  the  way  back  to  the  cottage,  Bella  recovered  her 
self-control  and  her  spirits.  It  was  a  wonderful  relief 
to  her  to  learn  that  she  was  not  the  daughter  of  the 
gruff  old  mariner,  whom  she  had  never  liked.  Look- 
ing back  on  her  life  at  Bleacres,  Bella  no  longer  won- 
dered that  her  supposed  father  had  never  shown  her 
any  affection,  and  she  shuddered  when  she  recalled 
the  terrible  fact  that  his  hands  were  red  with  blood. 
On  consideration,  however,  she  gave  Huxham  full 
credit  for  the  way  in  which  he  had  acted  towards  her. 
He  had  come  to  England  a  thief  and  a  murderer,  it  is 
true,  but  he  could  easily  have  left  her  in  the  care  of  the 
people  who  looked  after  her  in  a  little  Croydon  house. 
Bella  could  scarcely  remember  that  house  or  the 
woman  who  stood  to  her  in  the  place  of  a  mother,  her 
own  being  dead. 

Almost  her  earliest  recollection  was  being  taken 
from  Croydon  by  Captain  Huxham  and  placed  with 
some  friends  of  his  at  Shepherd's  Bush  until  she  was 
nine  years  old.  Then  she  lived  with  Huxham  for 
a  few  years,  and  ultimately  was  sent  to  the  Hampstead 
boarding-school,  whence  she  returned  to  Bleacres  at 
the  age  of  twenty.  Thus  the  captain  had  educated  her 
and  had  looked  after  her,  and  in  his  own  coarse  way 
had  proved  himself  to  be  generous  to  a  certain  extent. 
Badly  as  he  had  acted  in  robbing  her  of  her  heritage, 
he  might  have  behaved  infinitely  worse.  And  by  her 
heritage  Bella  meant  the  jewels.  With  the  property 
and  the  income  left  to  Mrs.  Coppersley,  now  Mrs. 
Vand,  she  had  nothing  to  do,  and  she  no  longer  grud- 
ged the  woman  what  she  had  schemed  to  get.  But  it 
was  probable  that  had  Mrs.  Vand  not  so  schemed, 
Huxham,  for  very  shame,  might  have  given  his  adop- 
ted daughter  his  nefarious  earnings. 

"I  must  not  be  hard  on  Captain  Huxham,"  said 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  207 

Bella,  when  Cyril  brought  her  to  the  gate,  "for,  in  his 
own  strange  way,  he  acted  kindly.  But  I  am  glad 
that  he  did  not  leave  me  anything,  as  I  am  certain  he 
earned  his  money  in  some  shady  manner." 

"A  kind  of  Captain  Kidd,"  assented  Lister  gravely. 
"I  agree  with  you.  But  the  old  ruffian  had  a  soft  spot 
in  his  heart  for  you,  my  dear." 

"No,"  said  Bella,  shaking  her  head,  "I  would  not 
say  that  exactly.  He  suffered  from  remorse  and  there- 
fore looked  me  out  when  he  came  to  England.  I  did 
not  find  him  an  affectionate  father  by  any  means. 
But  he  was  just,  in  a  grim  way,  and  even  generous. 
He  grudged  me  nothing  save  ready  money.  I  wonder 
if  Mrs.  Vand  knows  the  truth." 

"You  said  yourself  that  she  did  not,"  replied  Lister 
quietly,  "and  I  am  inclined  to  think  so  too.  A  tyrant 
like  Mrs.  Vand  would  have  been  only  too  glad  to  tell 
you  the  unpleasant  truth." 

"Unpleasant?"    Why,  it  is  a  delightful  truth!" 

"Unpleasant  from  Mrs.  Vand's  point  of  view,  since, 
had  she  known  that  you  were  not  her  brother's  daugh- 
ter, in  no  way  could  you  claim  the  money." 

Bella  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  am  very,  very 
glad  that  she  has  got  the  money,  and  much  good  may 
it  do  her.  But  I  am  thankful  that  Captain  Huxham 
did  not  reveal  the  truth  about  me  to  her.  Now  she 
need  never  know." 

"It  matters  very  little  whether  she  knows  or  not," 
retorted  Cyril.  "She  cannot  gain  possession  of  the 
jewels.    Those  are  clearly  yours." 

"How  are  we  going  to  gain  possession  of  them?" 
asked  Bella  lingering. 

Cyril  looked  hopelessly  up  to  the  blue  sky. 
"Heaven  only  knows!  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is 
to  find  my  father  and  see  if  they  are  in  his  possession. 
And  now  that  we  are  parting,  Bella,  and  you  feel 
better,  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  don't  think  my 


208  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

father  will  give  them  up — if  indeed  he  has  them." 

"But  to  me,  his  son's  future  wife " 

"My  father  is  quite  unbiassed  by  sentimental  con- 
siderations," said  Cyril  very  dryly.  "What  he  holds, 
he  keeps.  However,  there  is  plenty  of  time  to  talk 
of  this  matter  when  we  meet  my  father.  Meanwhile, 
what  will  you  do?" 

Bella  shook  the  bundle  of  papers  which  she  carried 
"I  am  going  to  my  bedroom  to  read  these,"  she  said 
seriously.  "I  wish  to  learn  everything  that  concerns 
my  true  parentage.  I  may  have  relatives,  you  know." 
"If  you  have,"  said  Lister  emphatically,  "I  only 
trust  that  you  will  leave  them  severely  alone.  I  don't 
care  for  relatives;  they  ask  everything  and  give 
nothing." 

"Well,"  said  Bella  smiling,  for  she  had  quite  re- 
covered her  spirits,  "so  long  as  I  have  you,  I  need  no 
sisters  or  cousins  or  aunts.     Good-bye,  dear.     No, 
»n"t  kiss  me;  someone  may  be  looking  on." 
"What  of  that?     Everyone  knows  that  we  are 
engaged." 

"It  doesn't  do  to  emphasise  the  engagement  in 
public,"  said  the  girl  seriously,  and  ran  into  the  cot- 
tage. At  the  door  she  turned.  "I  shall  tell  you  all 
that  I  read  in  these  papers,"  she  called  out,  and  van- 
ished, while  Cyril  returned  home  to  think  over  the 
strange  turn  which  events  had  taken.  And  things  were 
strange,  for  in  striving  to  solve  one  mystery  they  had 
solved  another.  In  seeking  for  Huxham's  assassin  they 
had  found  the  true  father  of  Bella. 

Dora  had  not  yet  returned,  so  Bella,  in  the  seclusion 
of  her  bedroom,  felt  relieved.  She  did  not  wish,  as 
yet,  to  share  her  secret  even  with  the  little  school- 
mistress, good  friend  as  that  amiable  woman  had 
proved  to  be.  Locking  her  door  she  sat  down  and  un- 
rolled the  bundle.  It  consisted  of  many  sheets  of 
foolscap,  and  appeared  to  be  a  kind  of  rough  diary 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  209 

kept  by  Jabez  Huxham,  when  he  was  in  Africa.  The 
script  was  in  his  crooked  painful  writing,  but  was  legi- 
ble enough,  and  after  some  practice  Bella  managed 
to  read  it  fairly  easily.  Seated  on  her  bed,  she  perused 
what  was  set  down,  and  found  the  reading  extremely 
interesting. 

The  sheets  seemed  to  have  been  torn  from  a  manu- 
script book,  for  the  diary  both  commenced  and  ended 
abruptly  and  dealt  entirely  with  Maxwell  Faith  and 
his  doings.  The  old  pirate  had  evidently  ripped  the 
pages  from  the  diary  which  he  kept  and  had  placed 
them  in  the  carved  chest,  which  Mrs.  Tunks  had  found 
in  the  attic.  There  also,  according  to  Durgo's  story, 
the  jewels  had  been  stored,  so  apparently  Huxham  had 
used  the  chest — which  had  belonged  to  Faith — as  a  re- 
pository for  all  that  concerned  the  dead  trader.  But 
Edwin  Lister  could  scarcely  have  gone  to  the  garret  to 
seek  the  chest  and  get  the  jewels,  since  he  did  not  know 
his  way  about  the  old  mansion.  It  was,  therefore, 
evident  that  Huxham  had  kept  the  jewels  in  his  study 
safe,  and  had  removed  the  chest  containing  the  torn-out 
leaves  to  the  attic.  Afterwards  he  had  apparently 
placed  the  papers  in  the  safe  also,  where  Pence  had 
probably  found  them.  But  Bella  did  not  pause  to  think 
out  these  matters.  She  was  to  much  interested  in 
the  story  which  was  set  down. 

Huxham  stated  abruptly  that  he  met  Maxwell  Faith 
at  Calabar,  and  had  been  engaged  by  him  to  transport 
certain  goods  up  the  Cross  River,  Nigeria,  as  far  as 
Ogrude,  when  they  were  to  be  taken  in  canoes  up  to 
Yahe  on  the  stream  of  that  name.  The  goods  were 
for  Kawal,  Durgo's  father,  with  whom  Faith  appeared 
to  have  had  many  dealings.  Faith  and  Huxham — so 
the  writer  said — got  on  very  well,  and  the  former  told 
the  latter  much  about  himself  and  his  past.  The  trader 
declared  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy  Huntingdon 
Quaker,  but  had  been  disowned  by  his  family  and  by 


2io  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

the  Society  of  Friends,  because  he  had  married  a  lady 
who  was  a  Roman  Catholic.  There  was  one  daughter, 
who  had  been  born  in  London  and  had  cost  the  mother 
her  life.  Faith  said  that  he  had  placed  his  daughter 
Isabella  with  some  friends  of  his  at  Croydon,  and  had 
come  to  Nigeria  to  make  money  for  her.  From  what 
Bella  could  gather,  her  father  appeared  to  have  been 
desperately  fond  of  her. 

Afterwards  Huxham  and  Faith  parted,  but  met 
again  in  the  Hinterland  at  the  chief  town  of  Kawal 
and  again  became  friendly.  Then  Uae  trader  told  Hux- 
ham that  because  he  had  supplied  the  chief  with  guns 
and  ammunition,  and  had  proved  his  friendship  in 
many  ways,  he  had  received  ancient  jewels  to  the 
amount  of  forty  thousand  pounds.  He  was  going 
home  to  his  daughter  with  the  money.  At  this  part  of 
the  diary  a  portion  of  the  manuscript  was  torn  away, 
apparently  that  which  dealt  with  the  murder  of  Faith 
by  Huxham. 

The  story  commenced  abruptly  again  with  the  state- 
ment that  the  writer  was  going  to  England  with  his 
earnings  and  with  the  jewels;  and  intending  to  seek 
out  Faith's  little  daughter  and  adopt  her.  Huxham 
gave  no  reason  for  doing  so  in  his  diary;  but  Bella, 
reading  between  the  lines,  guessed  that  the  man  was 
overcome  with  remorse — a  strange  thing  for  so  hard- 
ened a  sinner  as  Huxham  undoubtedly  was.  Then 
came  hasty  notes  of  Huxham's  fears  lest  he  should  be 
robbed  for  the  sake  of  the  jewels,  and  reference  to  an 
unknown  man  who  was  dogging  his  steps.  Ogrude, 
Afikpa,  Obubra  and  Calabar  were  towns  mentioned 
as  having  been  the  scene  of  adventures  with  this  man, 
whose  name  was  not  given.  Afterwards  the  hasty 
notes  detailed  the  finding  of  Faith's  little  daughter  at 
Croydon,  her  adoption  by  the  writer  and  her  removal 
to  Shepherd's  Bush.  A  few  remarks  were  made  rela- 
tive to  the  fears  of  Huxham,  and  of  his  determination 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  211 

to  find  some  place  in  the  country  where  he  would  be 
safe  from  pursuit.  The  final  page  was  torn  off  in  the 
middle,  and  Bella  could  read  no  more. 

Putting  away  the  bundle  in  her  box,  she  reflected 
on  what  she  had  read.  It  was  easy  for  her  to  find 
her  Quaker  relatives,  as  the  name  and  address  of  the 
family  were  given.  Evidently  these  same  relatives 
were  rich,  but  very  stiff-necked  in  Quaker  traditions. 
Bella,  however,  thought  very  little  of  this  at  the  mo- 
ment. Her  brain  was  employed  in  wondering  if  Hux- 
ham  had  met  with  his  death  at  the  hands  of  the  un- 
known man  who  had  dogged  his  footsteps  in  Nigeria. 
Without  doubt  this  man  knew  of  the  existence  of  the 
jewels,  and  that  Huxham  had  murdered  Faith  to  get 
them.  It  might  be  that  he  determined  to  get  the 
jewels,  and,  having  traced  Huxham  to  England  after 
long  years,  had  killed  him  and  so  gained  his  end.  And 
this  man — Bella  asked  herself  the  question  earnestly — 
was  this  man  Edwin  Lister  ?  She  resolved  to  tell  Cyril 
and  to  give  him  the  papers  to  read.  He  could  decide 
better  than  she,  and  probably  Durgo  could  throw  much 
light  on  the  subject. 

But  there  was  no  doubt  that  Huxham  had  bought 
the  Solitary  Farm,  and  had  planted  the  corn  thickly, 
and  had  mounted  the  searchlight  on  the  roof  of  Ble- 
acres,  so  that  he  might  defend  himself  from  robbery 
and  possibly  from  death.  But  all  his  precautions 
had  been  in  vain,  and  he  had  been  struck  down  at  last 
in  his  very  fortress.  And  by  Edwin  Lister!  Bella 
felt  certain  that,  as  Edwin  Lister  had  been  many  years 
in  Nigeria  and  had  been  a  close  friend  of  Kawal's,  he 
must  be  the  unknown  man  to  whom  Huxham  had  so 
often  referred.  Lister  was  the  assassin;  there  could 
be  no  doubt  on  that  point. 

Very  thoughtfully  the  girl  locked  up  the  papers, 
and  descended  to  the  drawing-room  to  wait  for  the 
return  of  Dora.     She  greatly  wished  to  speak  to  her 


212  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

friend  about  what  she  had  discovered,  but  such  a  con- 
fidence was  not  to  be  thought  of,  as  many  things  had  to 
be  done  first.  Until  Edwin  Lister  was  discovered, 
Bella  felt  that  she  would  have  to  be  silent.  But  her 
thoughts  on  this  subject  were  brought  to  an  abrupt 
conclusion  when  she  opened  the  drawing-room  door, 
for  she  unexpectedly  beheld  Silas  Pence. 

"I  came  to  see  you,  Miss  Faith,"  he  said,  using  her 
true  name,  "and  I  told  the  servant  not  to  announce 
me.    I  waited  here  till  you  came." 

Speaking  in  this  jerky,  nervous  manner,  the  young 
man  did  not  attempt  to  rise,  as  he  appeared  to  be 
ill  and  exhausted.  His  face  was  haggard  and  his  head 
was  bound  up  in  a  white  cloth.  Anything  more  weird 
than  his  looks  Bella  had  never  seen,  and  she  recoiled 
on  the  threshold  of  the  room,  only  anxious  to  escape 
from  his  unwelcome  presence. 

"Have  you  come  to  persecute  me  again?"  she 
asked. 

"No!  no!  no!"  said  Pence  weakly,  and  yet  with 
great  relief  in  his  tone.  "I  have  come  to  ask  your 
pardon  for  the  way  in  which  I  have  behaved.  I  was 
mad  to  trouble  you  as  I  did,  but  now  I  have  recovered 
my  reason." 

"What  do  you  mean  exactly?" 

Pence  smiled  in  a  ghastly  manner.  "Can  you  not 
guess,"  said  he,  touching  the  linen  rag  round  his  head. 
"The  blow  I  received  when  I  fell  on  the  fender  has 
changed  my  feelings  towards  you." 

"But  how  can  a  blow  do  that?"  asked  Bella,  re- 
lieved but  puzzled. 

"I  cannot  say,"  faltered  Pence,  resting  his  aching 
head  on  one  thin  hand.  "I  really  cannot  say ;  my  brain 
won't  think  just  now." 

"Then  don't  think  and  don't  talk,"  said  Bella, 
kindly  placing  a  plump  cushion  at  his  back.  "Rest 
quietly  and  I'll  make  you  a  cup  of  tea." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  213 

"You  give  me  good  for  evil,"  said  the  preacher, 
flushing  painfully. 

"No,  no !"  replied  the  girl  hastily,  and  remembering 
her  share  in  his  trouble.  "You  did  me  great  honour 
in  asking  me  to  be  your  wife,  though  you  were  a  trifle 
difficult  in  some  ways.    But  now " 

"It  is  all  gone;  it  is  all  gone.  I  assure  you  it  is  all 
gone !" 

"What  is  all  gone?" 

"All  my  love  for  you;  all  my  desire;  all  my  mad 
infatuation.  I  like  you  as  a  friend,  Miss  Faith — I 
shall  always  like  you  as  a  friend — but  I  can  never, 
never  worship  you  again  in  the  way  I  did." 

"Thank  heaven  for  that !"  said  Bella  fervently.  She 
knew  no  more  than  did  Silas  how  the  change  had  come 
about.  But  it  was  evident  that  the  blow  on  his  head 
had  suddenly  rearranged  his  ideas. 

"Up  to  ten  o'clock  last  night  I  loved  you  madly, 
despairingly,  and  would  have  risked  my  soul  to  gain 
your  hand.  But  since  I  fell" — he  passed  his  hand 
across  his  forehead  in  a  bewildered  manner — "every- 
thing has  changed." 

"And  for  the  better,"  Bella  assured  him.  "Come, 
don't  think  anything  more  about  the  matter.  I  have 
rung  the  bell  for  tea." 

"I  rung  the  bell  also  last  night.  It  brought  in  Mrs. 
Queen,  very  fortunately,  or  I  might  have  bled  to  death, 
Miss  Faith." 

"Why  do  you  call  me  Miss  Faith?"  asked  Bella 
abruptly. 

"Because  you  are  Miss  Faith,"  said  the  preacher, 
lifting  his  haggard  face  to  her  own  in  some  surprise. 
"Did  not  the  black  man  tell  you?" 

"How  do  you  know  that  I  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  black  man?" 

"I  have  seen  Mr.  Lister  with  him.  I  saw  you  all 
three  talking  on  the  common.     Oh,  Miss  Faith,  you 


214  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

don't  know  how  I  have  followed  and  spied  on  you!" 
and  the  man  flushed  with  shame  and  dismay. 

"Did  you  listen?"  asked  Bella  abruptly. 

"No;  I  did  not  fall  so  low  as  that,  but  I  followed 
and  watched." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  loved  you.  That  is  all  over  now ;  I  shall 
never  follow  or  watch  you  again.  I  am  glad  that  the 
black  man  threw  me  down  last  night.  When  I  found 
this  morning  that  my  prayers  had  been  answered  and 
that  I  no  longer  suffered  from  this  mad  passion,  I  re- 
solved to  say  nothing  about  what  had  taken  place." 

"And  so  invented  the  story  of  the  epileptic  fit?" 

"Yes ;  but  the  truth  is " 

"I  know  the  truth:  Durgo  told  everything  to  me 
and  to  Mr.  Lister  this  morning,  or  rather  this  after- 
noon; also  Durgo  gave  me  the  papers.  I  have  read 
them,  and  know  that  I  am  not  Captain  Huxham's 
daughter.  By  the  way" — Bella  looked  sharply  at  the 
preacher — "are  we  friends?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will  have  me  for  a  friend,"  said  Pence 
meekly. 

"By  all  means,  now  that  you  love  me  no  longer. 
Be  my  friend," — she  held  out  her  hand,  which  Pence 
grasped  feebly — "and  tell  me  how  you  got  those 
papers." 

"From  your  father's — I  mean  from  Captain  Hux- 
ham's safe." 

"Then  you  were  in  the  room  on  that  night?" 

"Yes.    I  saw  the  body." 

"And  you  said  nothing." 

"No.  Had  I  done  so,  I  should  have  incriminated 
myself.  When  I  entered  the  study  Captain  Huxham 
was  lying  dead  under  the  desk." 

"Did  you  see  anyone  about?" 

"I  saw  no  one,  not  even  Mr.  Lister,  whom  I  had 
followed  into  the  house." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  215 

"Just  explain  precisely  what  you  did  see,"  said  Bella, 
anxiously. 

Pence  thought  for  ?  few  moments.  "I  was  watch- 
ing the  house  as  usual  on  that  night  because  I  loved 
you,"  he  said,  in  a  slow,  feeble  way,  for  he  was  still 
weak  from  loss  of  blood.  "I  beheld  Mr.  Lister  coming 
towards  me.  He  brushed  past  me,  and  entered  the 
Manor  by  the  front  door.  I  watched  for  his  return, 
intending  to  speak  to  him.  But  he  never  came 
out." 

Bella  sat  up  alertly.     "He  never  came  out?" 

"No.  I  don't  know  how  long  I  watched ;  but  finally 
I  grew  tired,  and  stole  up  to  the  house.  The  front 
door  was  ajar.  I  saw  that  the  study  door  was  also 
open,  so  I  went  in.  Then  I  saw  Captain  Huxham  ly- 
ing dead  and  bleeding,  with  the  safe  open  and  the 
papers  in  disorder.  In  the  safe,  or,  rather,  tumbled 
on  the  floor  before  the  safe  was  a  bundle  of  banknotes. 
The  Accuser  of  the  Brethren  tempted  me,"  said  Silas, 
with  the  perspiration  beading  his  high  forehead,  "and  I 
snatched  up  the  notes,  for  I  thought  that  if  I  had  money 
I  could  marry  you.  I  then  saw  that  bundle  which  the 
black  man  took  from  me,  and  thinking  there  might 
be  more  notes  in  the  bundle,  I  snatched  that  up  also 
and  fled." 

"Why  did  you  fly?"  asked  Bella,  following  this  story 
with  great  interest. 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  noise,  and  feared  lest  I  should 
be  accused  of  killing  Captain  Huxham.  I  ran  out  o£ 
the  study,  and  out  of  the  house,  and  down  the  path 
between  the  standing  corn,  as  though  the  devil  was 
after  me.  But  he  was  not  after  me,"  wailed  Pence, 
standing  up,  "he  was  in  my  heart.  Here  is  the  money 
for  which  I  sold  my  precious  soul,"  and  he  threw  a 
packet  of  bank-notes  on  the  table  with  feverish  eager- 
ness.    "It  was  all  for  your  sake!" 

Bella  took  up  the  notes.     "The  man  you  mistook 


216  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

for  Mr.  Lister  was  his  father,"  she  said  quietly;  "did 
you  not  see  him  in  the  room?" 

"I  saw  no  one.  Did  Lister's  father  kill  Captain 
Huxham?" 

"Can't  you  tell?"  asked  the  girl,  looking  at  him 
straightly. 

"I  have  told  everything,"  said  Pence,  with  an  air 
of  fatigue;  "now  I  die,"  and  before  she  could  help 
him  he  fell  full  length  on  the  floor  quite  insensible. 
The  interview  had  proved  too  much  for  him  in  his 
weak  state. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE   GHOST. 

The  corn  on  Bleacres  was  rapidly  ripening  under  the 
beams  of  the  powerful  sun.  The  Manor-house  was 
islanded  amidst  a  golden  sea  of  grain,  the  waves  of 
which  rolled  up  even  to  its  ancient  walls.  The  winding 
path  to  the  boundary  channel  was  still  the  sole  means 
of  approach,  but  few  people  came  up  this  to  the  house, 
as  the  Vands  were  not  popular.  Henry  certainly  was 
approved  of,  on  account  of  his  manners,  his  affliction, 
and  his  violin-playing;  but  the  neighbours,  ignorant 
of  the  truth,  could  not  forgive  his  wife  for  robbing 
Bella  of  her  inheritance.  Now  that  she  was  rich  and 
re-married,  it  was  Mrs.  Vand's  intention  to  become  the 
great  lady  of  the  district,  but  hitherto  she  had  not  met 
with  much  success  in  her  bid  for  popularity. 

But,  in  spite  of  cold  looks  and  significant  speeches, 
Mrs.  Vand  went  from  house  to  house,  talking  of  a 
Harvest  Home  fete,  which  she  proposed  to  give  as 
soon  as  the  grain  was  reaped.  Her  husband  would 
not  accompany  her  on  these  social  visits,  as  he  was 
shrewd  enough  to  see  that  only  time  would  ameliorate 
the  bad  impression  which  Mrs.  Vand's  callous  conduct 
had  created.  In  vain  he  tried  to  show  his  wife  that  it 
would  be  wise  to  retire  for  a  short  period.  Mrs.  Vand 
scorned  such  Fabian  tactics,  and  did  her  best  to  take  by 
storm  the  position  she  felt  that  her  wealth  and  per- 
sonality deserved.  The  more  she  was  snubbed,  the 
more  she  persisted,  and  there  was  no  doubt  but  what,  in 
the  end,  she  would  gain  what  she  wanted,  by  wearing 
down  those  who  resented  her  conduct. 

Mrs.  Vand  paid  a  visit  even  to  Dora  Ankers,  choos- 


218  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

ing  a  Saturday  afternoon,  when  she  knew  that  Bella 
was  walking  on  the  common  with  her  lover.  The  little 
school-mistress  received  her  coldly,  as  she  had  never 
liked  the  woman  from  the  first  day  she  had  set  eyes  on 
her.  But  Mrs.  Vand,  in  the  most  flamboyant  of  cos- 
tumes, was  all  smiles  and  small  talk,  refusing  to  see 
for  one  moment  the  chilly  reception  she  was  receiving. 

"You  really  must  come  to  our  Harvest  Home,  Miss 
Ankers,"  she  babbled;  "what  with  Henry's  taste  and 
my  money,  it  will  be  wonderfully  gay  and  bright  and 
artistic.  Everyone  will  help  to  reap  the  corn,  and  in 
the  evening  we  will  have  a  ball,  at  which  Henry  will 
play  old  English  tunes,  to  which  we  shall  dance.  You 
must  come.    I  shall  take  no  refusal." 

"How  can  I  ?"  asked  Dora  tartly,  "seeing  that  your 
niece  whom  you  have  treated  so  badly,  is  stopping 
with  me." 

Mrs.  Vand  drew  up  her  stout  figure  with  great 
dignity.  "That  Bella  Huxham  left  her  home  and  my 
guardianship  is  purely  her  own  fault,"  she  replied.  "I 
promised  to  look  after  her,  at  poor  Jabez's  request. 
But  she  chose  to  behave  in  a  way  of  which  I  did  not 
approve,  and  to  engage  herself  to  a  man,  who  is  not 
the  husband  I  should  have  picked  for  her." 

"Bella  has  every  right  to  choose  a  husband  for  her- 
self," retorted  Miss  Ankers. 

"Girls  are  not  clever  enough  to  choose  the  right 
man.    And  Mr.  Lister " 

"You  know  nothing  about  him,  Mrs.  Vand." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  complain  of,"  said  the  other 
woman  triumphantly,  "he  may  be  a  rogue  and  a 
scamp." 

"He  may  be,  but  he  is  not.  Mr.  Lister  is  a  gentle- 
man." 

"That  doesn't  prevent  his  being  a  bad  character." 

"Well,"  said  Dora,  rising  to  terminate  the  visit,  "I 
don't  care  about  discussing  my  friends." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  219 

Mrs.  Vand  rose  also.  "Let  us  shelve  the  subject," 
she  said  grandly,  "and  you  can  tell  Bella  that  I  am 
willing  to  forgive  and  forget.  If  she  likes  to  come 
to  our  Harvest  Home,  she  can  do  so.  I  am  not 
the  one  to  bear  malice.  It  is  the  last  Harvest  Home  we 
shall  have,"  prattled  Mrs.  Vand,  as  her  hostess  skilfully 
edged  her  towards  the  door.  "Henry  does  not  intend 
to  sow  wheat  again,  and  the  grounds  of  Bleacres  will 
be  thrown  open  to  the  public." 

"People  are  not  fond  of  wandering  in  marshes," 
said  Dora  dryly.  "If  you  want  to  please  us,  throw 
open  the  Manor-house.  That  is  interesting,  if  you 
like." 

"And  haunted,"  said  the  visitor  in  a  thrilling  whis- 
per; "do  you  know  of  any  sad  legend  connected  with 
the  Manor-house,  Miss  Ankers?" 

"No!"  snapped  Dora,  tartly;  then  her  curiosity  got 
the  better  of  her  dislike  for  Mrs.  Vand.  "Is  it  really 
haunted?" 

"There  are  footsteps,  and  whisperings,  and  rappings 
in  the  twilight.  I  told  Henry  that  if  this  sort  of  thing 
continued,  I  should  leave  the  place." 

Privately,  Dora  wished  that  she  would,  and 
thus  rid  the  neighbourhood  of  a  most  undesirable 
presence,  but  aloud  she  merely  remarked  that  the 
noises  might  be  due  to  rats,  a  suggestion  which 
Mrs.    Vand   scouted. 

"It's  a  ghost,  a  ghost!"  she  insisted — "all  old 
families  have  a  ghost.  But  do  not  let  us  talk  of  it,"  she 
continued,  looking  round  with  a  shudder;  "already  the 
thing  has  got  on  my  nerves.  To  go  to  a  more  pleasant 
subject:  let  me  invite  you  for  a  row  on  the  water." 

"A  row  on  the  water?"  echoed  Dora,  who  knew 
of  no  lake  in  the  neighbourhood. 

"On  the  channel  at  the  end  of  my  grounds,"  ex- 
plained Mrs.  Vand.  "Henry  has  bought  a  rowing- 
boat,  and  takes  me  far  into  the  country.     You  can 


220  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

almost  reach  the  railway  line  before  you  get  to  the 
swamps.    Do  come." 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  said  Miss  Ankers,  only  anxious 
to  get  her  visitor  out  of  the  house  before  Bella  came 
back. 

"Do,  dear,  and  come  to  our  Harvest  Home.  It 
will  be  quite  artistic :  you  have  no  idea  of  Henry's  per- 
fect taste,  and  if  Bella  comes  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 

her,  in  spite  of  her  nasty  behaviour,  and — and " 

Mrs.  Vand  could  think  of  nothing  more  to  say,  so  took 
herself  off,  with  a  gracious  smile,  quite  sure  that  she 
had  played  the  part  of  a  great  lady  to  perfection. 

"Ugh !"  said  Dora,  looking  after  the  stout,  gaudily- 
clothed  figure,  "you're  a  spiteful  cat,  if  ever  there  was 
one.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  to  hear  that  you  had 
killed  your  brother  yourself,  in  order  to  get  the 
money." 

Unaware  of  this  amiable  speech,  Mrs.  Vand  sailed 
grandly  through  the  village,  dispensing  smiles  and 
patronage.  Fortunately  for  herself,  she  was  not  a 
thought-reader,  or  her  self-satisfaction  might  have  re- 
ceived a  severe  reproof.  She  was  considered  to  be 
considerably  worse  than  Jezebel,  and  in  her  stoutness 
was  compared  to  the  late  Mrs.  Manning,  a  notable 
murderess.  To  her  face  many  were  agreeable,  but 
usually  she  was  not  received  with  the  best  grace. 
Finally,  towards  the  evening,  she  returned  to  the 
Manor-house  to  report  on  her  triumphs. 

Crossing  the  boundary-channel,  she  saw  the  boat 
which  her  husband  had  lately  bought.  It  was  a  nar- 
row but  comfortable  craft  of  a  light  build,  and  the 
water-way  was  quite  broad  enough  to  permit  if  its  be- 
ing rowed  very  comfortably,  even  though  the  oars 
occasionally  touched  the  banks.  Mrs.  Vand  looked 
at  this  boat  with  a  singular  expression,  and  then,  step- 
ping across  the  planks,  walked  up  to  her  lordly  abode. 
She  found  that  her  husband  was  absent,  and  had  left 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  221 

word  with  the  servant  that  he  would  not  be  back  to 
dinner.  Mrs.  Vand  was  annoyed,  as  she  did  not  like 
eating  alone ;  but  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  was  afraid 
of  her  quiet  husband,  even  though  he  was  considerably 
her  junior,  and  made  no  comment.  However,  the  ser- 
vant who  brought  in  the  seven  o'clock  tea  had  much  to 
say,  and  Mrs.  Vand  permitted  her  to  talk,  for,  as  usual, 
the  sinister  influence  of  the  Manor  was  getting  on  her 
healthy  nerves. 

"Master's  gone  to  the  village,  to  see  his  ma,"  said 
the  servant,  who  was  small  and  elfish  and  somewhat 
brazen.     "Then  he's  going  to  see  Tunks." 

"What's  the  matter  with  Tunks?"  asked  Mrs.  Vand, 
pouring  out  the  tea. 

"He's  ill.  He's  been  drinking  hard  for  weeks,  ever 
since  that  horrid  murder,  mum,  and  now  the  doctor 
says  he's  got  delirious  trimmings." 

Mrs.  Vand  looked  up  sharply,  and  frowned.  "He  is 
raving?" 

"Raving  hard,  mum.  But  master  will  see  that  he  is 
looked  after." 

"Your  master  is  very  good,"  said  Mrs.  Vand,  taking 
a  piece  of  bread.    "You  can  go,  Sarah." 

The  servant  departed  somewhat  unwillingly,  as  she 
did  not  like  the  big,  bare  kitchen,  and  felt  the  influence 
of  the  unseen  as  did  her  mistress.  But  as  yet,  ghostly 
doings  had  not  been  sufficiently  scaring  to  make  her 
throw  up  a  good  situation.  Nevertheless,  she  shivered 
in  the  kitchen,  and  wished  that  Tunks  was  present  to 
keep  her  company,  as  he  often  did,  at  the  evening  meal. 
But  Tunks  was  raving  at  the  present  moment  in  the 
hut  on  the  marshes,  and  there  was  no  chance  of  any- 
one else  coming  to  Bleacres. 

Mrs.  Vand  sat  and  shivered  in  the  dining-room  also. 
She  lighted  three  lamps,  and  although  the  evening 
was  warm,  she  set  fire  to  the  coals  and  wood  in  the 
large,  old-fashioned  grate.     It  seemed  to  her  that  she 


222  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

could  not  have  enough  light  or  warmth  to  ward  off  the 
cold,  malicious  influence,  which  seemed  to  spread  a  sin- 
ister atmosphere  throughout  the  vast  room.  Shivering 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  Mrs.  Vand  kept  casting  furtive 
looks  here  and  there,  as  though  she  expected  to  see  the 
blood-stained  figure  of  her  murdered  brother  appear 
like  Banquo's  spectre.  Outside  the  twilight  gradually 
deepened  to  luminous  darkness,  and  although  she  had 
finished  her  tea,  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to  move  about 
the  gloomy  passages.  Again  and  again,  she  wished  that 
Henry  would  return. 

At  nine  o'clock  her  nerves  were  still  shaky,  and 
she  felt  that  she  could  not  stand  the  dining-room  any 
longer.  Ringing  the  bell,  she  took  a  lamp  in  each  hand, 
and  told  Sarah — who  entered  speedily — to  take  the 
other.  The  two  women  proceeded  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  Mrs.  Vand,  having  pulled  down  the  blinds, 
ordered  Sarah  to  bring  her  work  and  sit  beside  her. 
The  servant  was  only  too  pleased  to  obey,  and  for  the 
next  half-hour  the  two  sat  in  pleasant  gossiping  con- 
fabulation, Mrs.  Vand  knitting  a  silk  tie  for  her  hus- 
band, and  Sarah  trimming  a  wonderful  hat  with 
aggressively  brilliant  flowers.  There  was  no  noise,  as 
the  wind  had  dropped,  and  everything  was  intensely 
still.  Mrs.  Vand  and  Sarah  chattered  incessantly  to 
keep  up  their  courage  in  the  ghostly  atmosphere. 
Suddenly — 

"Listen!"  said  Mrs.  Vand,  raising  her  hand.  "Do 
you  hear  ?" 

Sarah  turned  white  through  her  dingy  skin,  and  held 
her  breath.  There  came  distinctly  the  sound  of  three 
knocks  from  somewhere  near  the  fire-place;  then  a 
long,  dreary  sigh.  The  servant  shrieked,  and  sprang 
for  the  door.  But  Mrs.  Vand  was  after  her  in  one 
moment,  and  seized  her.  "Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool ! 
It's  only  rats." 

As  if  to  give  the  lie  to  her  statement,  there  came  the 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  223 

swish,  swish  of  silken  skirts,  and  then  the  sigh  again. 
This  was  too  much  for  Mrs.  Vand.  She  scuttled  panic- 
stricken  into  the  hall,  followed  by  the  shrieking  Sarah. 
At  the  same  moment,  as  though  it  had  been  pre- 
arranged, the  front  door  opened  and  Vand  appeared. 

"Oh,  Henry!  Henry!"  gasped  his  wife,  and  clung 
to  him. 

The  young  man  shook  her  off.  "What  is  the  mat- 
ter?" he  asked  in  calm  tones.  But  Mrs.  Vand  being 
too  terrified  to  answer,  Sarah  did  so  for  her.  "The 
ghost!  the  ghost!  the  ghost!" 

"What  rubbish!"  said  Vand,  easily;  "there  is  no 
ghost,  you  silly  girl,  and  if  there  is,  here  is  one  who 
can  lay  it." 

He  stepped  aside,  and  Granny  Tunks,  lean  and 
weird-looking,  appeared  at  the  door.  She  had  a  white 
cloak  over  her  fantastic  dress,  and  looked  more  witch- 
like than  ever.  Mrs.  Vand  stared  at  the  woman  in  sur- 
prise. "Why  have  you  left  your  grandson?"  she  asked, 
and  glancing  at  Henry. 

"He's  sound  asleep,  deary,  the  fit  having  passed.  A 
gal  o'  mine,  of  the  true  Romany  breed,  looking  after 
him.  Your  sweet  husband  here" — she  waved  a  skinny 
hand  towards  Vand — "asked  me  to  come  and  see  what 
I  could  do  to  lay  this  unquiet  spirit  who  walks." 

"Rubbish!  rubbish!"  said  Mrs.  Vand,  now  feeling 
more  confident  in  company. 

"It's  not  rubbish,  deary,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks,  mysteri- 
ously ;  "the  dead  walk." 

"The  dead?" 

"Your  poor  brother,  as  is  uneasy  at  having  been 
pitched  out  of  life  so  cruel.  He's  walking,"  and  she 
nodded  weirdly. 

On  hearing  this  statement,  Sarah  whimpered  and 
clutched  at  Mrs.  Vand's  dress,  whereupon  that  lady 
who  was  extremely  pale  herself — shook  her  off.  "Go 
to  bed,  Sarah,"  she  commanded. 


224  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"Me!"  screeched  the  girl,  "and  when  there's  ghosts 
walking!  I'd  scream  myself  into  fits  if  I  went  up- 
stairs." 

Mrs.  Vand  appealed  to  her  husband.  "Henry,  make 
her  go." 

The  young  man  took  the  girl  by  the  shoulders, 
and  propelled  her  towards  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  but 
Sarah  resisted  wildly,  and  finally  made  a  bolt  for  the 
still  open  front  door.  "I'll  go  home  to  mother,"  she 
cried  hysterically,  and  disappeared  into  the  darkness. 

"There,"  said  Mrs.  Vand,  angrily,  to  Granny  Tunks. 
"See  what  you've  done.  The  house  will  get  a  bad 
name.    I'll  give  that  minx  warning  in  the  morning." 

Vand,  seeing  that  it  was  useless  to  run  after  the 
terrified  Sarah,  who  by  this  time  was  half-way  to 
Marshely,  closed  the  door,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Come  into  the  drawing-room,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Tunks. 

"No,  no!"  cried  his  wife,  shaking;  "the  ghost  is 
there.  I  heard  the  rapping  and  the  sighing  and 
the " 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  interrupted  Vand,  with  less  than 
his  usual  coolness ;  "that  is  why  I  have  brought  Gran- 
ny. There  is  an  evil  influence  in  this  house,  and  I 
want  her  to  find  out  what  it  is." 

"Do  you  believe  in  such  rubbish  ?" 

"You  seemed  to  believe  in  it  just  now,"  said  the 
cripple  drily.  "Yes,  I  do  believe  in  the  unseen,  as  I 
have  had  too  much  proof  not  to  believe." 

"Then  get  a  priest,  get  a  priest!"  cried  Mrs.  Vand 
wildly,  and  looking  twice  her  age.  "What  is  the  use 
of  this  old  fool?" 

Granny  Tunks  laughed  in  an  elfish  manner  when 
she  heard  herself  spoken  of  thus,  and  seemed  very 
little  put  out.  "A  fool  can  do  what  a  wise  woman 
can't,"  she  croaked ;  "your  husband's  wiser  nor  you, 
deary.     He  knows." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  225 

"Knows  what?"  asked  Mrs.  Vand,  turning  on  the 
ancient  gipsy  fiercely. 

"That  there's  danger  coming  to  you  and  him." 

Mrs.  Vand  cast  one  scared  and  indignant  look  on 
the  withered  face,  and  ran  into  the  drawing-room. 
Henry  had  preceded  her  here,  and  was  standing  by 
the  table  looking  round  the  room  in  an  inquiring  man- 
ner, evidently  on  the  alert  for  the  mysterious  sounds. 
Mrs.  Vand  caught  his  arm.  "Do  you  hear  what  this 
woman  says?"  she  asked,  shaking  him. 

"As  the  door  was  open  I  did  hear,"  he  replied  cool- 
ly; "don't  be  a  fool,  Rosamund.  I  brought  her  here 
to  see  what  she  can  tell  us." 

"About? — "  Mrs.  Vand  faltered  and  broke  down. 

"Hold  your  tongue !"  said  Henry  with  an  angry  hiss 
like  that  of  a  serpent. 

Usually  the  young  man  wore  a  mild  and  gentle  ex- 
pression, but  on  this  night  his  face  was  haggard  and 
his  eyes  were  wild.  He  had  all  his  wits  about  him, 
however,  and  forced  his  wife  into  a  chair,  where  she 
sat  trembling  violently.  "I've  had  enough  of  these 
ghostly  pranks,"  he  said  in  a  fierce  undertone,  "and 
as  Granny  undoubtedly  possesses  clairvoyant  powers,  I 
wish  her  to  learn  all  she  can.  Come  in,  Mrs.  Tunks !" 
he  added,  raising  his  voice,  and  the  old  wich-wife 
entered  the  room,  looking  singularly  weird  in  her 
white  cloak. 

"Is  that  the  only  reason  that  you  have  asked  Gran- 
ny here?"  demanded  Mrs  Vand,  in  a  low  voice. 
"Sarah  told  me  that  her  grandson  had  been  raving." 

"You  fool!"  snarled  the  cripple.  "Will  you  hold 
your  tongue  ?  I  have  another  purpose,  which  you  will 
find  out  shortly.  Granny,"  he  pointed  to  a  chair,  "sit 
down  and  tell  us  what  influences  are  about." 

Mrs.  Tunks  sat  in  the  indicated  chair,  and  lay 
back  with  closed  eyes.  Vand  and  his  wife  remained 
perfectly  still,  the  latter  gazing  at  the  old  witch  in  a 


226  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

terrified  manner,  as  though  dreading  what  she  would 
say  and  do.  The  room  was  rilled  with  shadows,  even 
though  three  lamps  were  lighted,  and  the  silence  be- 
came quite  oppressive.  Mrs.  Vand  was  a  healthy 
animal,  and  not  in  the  least  imaginative,  but  after  a 
time  she  felt  that  some  evil  influence  was  in  the  room, 
and  tightly  gripped  her  husband's  hand.  The  perspira- 
tion broke  out  on  her  forehead.  Henry  gave  her  no 
comfort,  not  even  by  pressing  her  hand.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  perfectly  expressionless  and  still 
face  of  Granny  Tunks.  The  seance  had  all  the  ele- 
ments of  terror  about  it. 

The  gipsy  lay  as  still  as  though  carved  out  of  stone, 
and  the  watchers  could  scarcely  see  the  rise  and  fall  of 
her  breath.  Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  stillness,  so 
that  even  the  fall  of  a  pin  could  have  been  heard,  had 
one  been  dropped.  Apparently  the  body  of  Granny 
lay  supine  in  the  chair,  but  her  spirit  was  far  away — 
roaming  the  house,  maybe.  After  a  long  pause,  the 
woman  began  to  speak  in  a  low,  expressionless  voice, 
and  almost  without  moving  her  withered  lips. 

"Gems,"  she  said  softly,  "rare  gems,  blue  and  red 
and  green;  jewels  of  price  and  pearls  of  the  ocean. 
They  are  in  an  ivory  box.  Long  ago  the  woman  who 
is  standing  near  me" — Mrs.  Vand  started,  looked,  but 
could  see  nothing,  yet  the  monotonous  voice  went  on, 
as  though  the  speaker  really  saw  the  form  described — 
"wore  those  jewels.  She  has  the  face  of  a  Roman  em- 
press. In  Africa,  many  centuries  ago — yes,  in  Africa, 
and  she  sinned  to  get  those  jewels.  Now  she  laments 
that  she  has  lost  them." 

"How  did  she  lose  them?"  asked  Vand  almost  in 
a  whisper,  as  though  fearful  of  breaking  the  charm. 
Apparently — as  Mrs.  Vand  guessed — this  was  not  the 
first  time  he  had  assisted  at  so  weird  a  ceremony. 

"Fierce  warriors  in  green  turbans  took  them — war- 
riors of  Arabia.    The  jewels  travel  south,  still  with  the 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  22^ 

warriors.  There  are  many  fights.  The  jewels  pass 
from  one  hand  to  another,  still  in  the  ivory  box.  Now 
a  savage  has  them — a  savage,  in  a  wild  forest.  They 
are  buried  in  the  earth  at  the  place  where  victims  are 
sacrificed  to  the  gods.  Long  years  pass :  centuries  glide 
by.  The  box  of  jewels  is  found:  it  is  in  the  hands  of 
another  savage,  who  wears  European  clothes.  He 
gives  the  jewels  to  a  white  man  for  services 
rendered." 

Mrs.  Vand  interrupted  with  a  strangled  cry  of  ter- 
ror.   "Jabez — is  he  Jabez?" 

"He  is  not  Jabez  Huxham,  but  a  man  called  Max- 
well Faith.  But  see" — the  dull  voice  of  the  gipsy 
suddenly  became  emotional  and  loud — "they  pass  into 
the  hands  of  Jabez  Huxham,  and  the  hands  that  bear 
away  the  jewels  are  stained  with  blood.  The  jewels 
pass  with  him  across  the  sea  to  this  land.  In  London 
first;  then  in  this  house.  They  are  placed  in  a  carved 
chest;  it  is  in  the  attic.  Now  they  are  in  the  safe  in 
the  study,  and  now " 

Vand  interrupted.  "How  did  they  pass  out  of 
Huxham's  possession?" 

Granny  Tunks  did  not  reply  for  a  few  minutes,  dur- 
ing which  Mrs.  Vand  clutched  her  husband's  hand 
still  tighter,  and  passed  her  tongue  over  her  dry  lips. 
"They  pass  from  Jabez  Huxham,  as  they  came  to  him 
— by  murder,"  went  on  the  clairvoyant.  "I  see  the 
study.  Huxham  is  at  the  desk,  and  the  ivory  box  of 
jewels  is  before  him.  There  is  a  knife  on  the  floor  by 
the  door,  and  the  knife  is  bloody." 

"But  Huxham  is  not  dead,"  said  Vand,  quickly  and 
softly. 

"There  is  blood  on  the  knife,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks, 
without  taking  any  notice  of  the  question.  "Huxham 
is  so  engaged  in  looking  at  the  jewels  that  he  does  not 
see  the  door  softly  open.  A  man  enters.  He  sees  the 
knife  and  picks  it  up.     He  glided  behind  Huxham, 


228  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

who  suddenly  turns.  Now — now  the  blow  has  fallen, 
and  the  jewels,  the  jewels "    She  paused. 

"What  more?"  gasped  Mrs.  Vand.  "What  more, 
in  God's  name  ?" 

"There  is  no  God  here,  but  only  evil,"  came  the  re- 
ply. "I  can  see  no  more.  I  see,  however,  that  the  man 
who  struck  the  blow  is  a  cripple,  and " 

"There  came  a  cry,  apparently  from  behind  the  wall. 
Vand  and  his  wife  turned  astonished  and  terror-struck. 
On  the  left  of  the  fire-place  a  sliding  panel  was  pushed 
back,  and  they  beheld  Bella,  pale  but  triumphant. 

"So  you  murdered  Captain  Huxham!"  she  cried, 
"you  and  your  wife.    O  God " 

"There  is  no  God  here,"  breathed  Mrs.  Tunks  again, 
"only  evil." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN    AWKWARD    POSITION 

The  appearance  and  accusation  of  Bella  were  so  un- 
expected that  Mrs.  Vand  and  her  husband  became 
perfectly  white,  and  obvious  fear  robbed  them  of  all 
powers  of  movement.  Granny  Tunks  sat  up,  rubbed 
her  eyes,  and  stared  at  Bella  with  the  open  panel  be- 
hind her  in  great  surprise. 

"Where  have  you  come  from,  deary?"  she  asked, 
rising  unsteadily. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Bella,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
guilty  faces  of  the  married  couple.  "It  is  enough  that 
I  am  here  to  accuse  these  two  of  murder." 

Mrs.  Tunks  uttered  a  screech.  "What  are  you  talk- 
ing about,  lovey  ?  This  good  gentleman  and  kind  lady 
have  murdered  no  one." 

Bella  glanced  at  her  in  a  puzzled  way.  "You  de- 
clared that  Henry  Vand  murdered  my  father,"  she 
remarked  quietly,  and  keeping  up  the  fiction  of  her 
being  Huxham's  daughter;  "you  said  that  a  crip- 
ple  " 

"Me!"  screeched  Granny  again.  "I  never  said  such 
a  thing." 

"Of  course  not,"  chimed  in  Vand,  who  was  the  first 
to  recover  his  powers  of  speech.     "It's  all  nonsense." 

"Your  face  showed  that  it  was  the  truth  just  now," 
said  Bella  sharply,  "when  Mrs.  Tunks  talked  in  her 
sleep." 

"Sleep?  No  lovey,  no  sleep.  I  sent  my  spirit  away 
to  learn  things.  What  did  I  say?  Tell  me,  my  good 
gentleman,  what  did  I  say?" 

"I  don't  remember.  I  forgot,"  said  Vand  striving 
to  appear  cool. 


230  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"I  don't  forget,"  cried  Bella  indignantly,  "she  spoke 
of  the  jewels  and  of  my  father's  murder.  How  did 
you  rind  out?"  she  asked  Granny  Tunks,  who  dropped 
into  her  chair  and  seemed  to  shrink.  "How  did  you 
learn  about  the  jewels  and  Maxwell  Faith?" 

"1  never  heard  the  name.  I  never  knew  there  were 
any  jewels,"  murmured  the  witch-wife.  "I  never 
said  anything  about  murder.  When  I  came  back  to  my 
body  I  never  remember  anything.  No,  no,  no!  The 
spirit  is  stronger  than  the  flesh  and  jealous  of  its 
secrets,"  and  she  went  on  murmuring  and  maundering 
like  one  in  her  dotage.  Yet  Bella  knew  well,  that  in 
spite  of  her  age,  Granny  Tunks  was  very  far  from  be- 
ing intellectually  weak. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Vand,  who  had  sunk  into  a  chair, 
had  gradually  recovered  her  colour  and  wits.  "You 
are  the  ghost !"  she  said  suddenly  to  Bella. 

In  spite  of  the  strained  situation,  the  girl  laughed, 
though  not  very  mirthfully.  "Yes,  I  am  the  ghost!" 
she  acknowledged.  "It  was  I  who  sighed  and  rapped 
and  rustled  my  skirts  so  as  to  drive  you  and  Sarah  out 
of  the  room." 

"How  dare  you!  how  dare  you!"  shouted  Mrs. 
Vand,  rising  wrathfully.  "What  do  you  mean  by 
entering  my  house,  and  how  did  you  get  in." 

"I  got  in  by  a  way  of  which  you  know  nothing," 
said  Bella  coolly,  "and  I  am  not  going  to  reveal  my 
secret.  But  I  know  this  house  better  than  you,  Aunt 
Rosamund" — she  gave  her  the  old  familiar  name — 
"and  I  know  of  many  secret  passages.  This," — 
she  touched  the  panel  at  her  back — "is  the  entrance 
to  one  of  them.  In  the  old  days  many  a  conspirator 
concealed  himself  here.  I  have  used  the  hiding-place 
to  learn  your  secret." 

"How  dare  you!  how  dare  you!"  blustered  Mrs. 
Vand,  and  would  have  gone  on  abusing  Bella  wrath- 
fully but  that  her  crafty  husband  interposed. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  231 


«i 


'Miss  Huxham,  you  have  behaved  wrongly  in  enter- 
ing the  house  in  this  secret  manner,  seeing  that  I  told 
you  how  welcome  you  were  to  come  openly.  Both 
Rosamund  and  myself  would  have  been  glad  to  see 
you." 

"Not  me!  not  me!"  vociferated  Mrs.  Vand,  with  a 
bright  spot  of  angry  red  on  each  cheek.  "I  always 
hated  her,  and  I  hate  her  more  than  ever." 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  muttered  her  husband,  and 
gave  her  plump  arm  such  a  pinch  that  she  leaped  aside 
with  a  cry  of  pain.  Taking  no  notice  of  her  distress  he 
turned  to  Bella.  "You  should  have  come  openly,"  he 
repeated.  "May  I  ask  why  you  made  use  of  the  secret 
passages?" 

"You  may,  and  I  am  quite  willing  to  answer.  I 
came  to  find  the  whereabouts  of  the  jewels  which  be- 
longed to  my  father." 

"I  know  of  no  jewels,"  said  Vand  steadily;  "do  you, 
Rosamund  ?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  returned  Mrs.  Vand  aggressively. 
"There  was  the  property  and  the  income,  both  of  which 
Jabez  left  to  me  by  arrangement.  But  jewels  ?  I  never 
saw  any ;  if  I  had  I  should  have  got  hold  of  them,  since 
they  are  mine — if  they  exist,  that  is." 

"Granny  here  said  when  she  spoke  that  they  existed," 
insisted  Bella  quietly. 

Mrs.  Vand  shrugged  her  fat  shoulders.  "I  don't 
believe  in  hocus-pocus  and  hanky-panky.  Henry 
thought  that  the  house  was  haunted,  as  I  did  myself, 
and  he  brought  Granny  here  to  lay  the  ghost.  She  has 
done  so,  since  she  brought  you  out  to  talk  in  a  silly 
manner.  You  are  the  ghost,  Bella,  so  I  don't  believe 
that  there  are  any  such  things  as  spirits." 

"I  don't  believe  in  spirits  either,"  said  Bella 
promptly,  "and  so  I  wish  to  know,  Mrs.  Tunks,  how 
you  learned  all  you  said." 

"All  what?"  mumbled  the  witch-wife  vacantly. 


232  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"  All  about  the  jewels  and  the  murder  and  the " 

"I  don't  remember  saying  a  word,"  interrupted 
Granny,  rising  slowly  and  with  a  lack-lustre  look  in 
her  beady  eyes.  "When  I  go  into  a  trance  I  don't  recall 
what  I  say.  #But  let  me  go  into  a  trance  again  and  I'll 
tell  you  where  the  jewels  are  if  you  will  give  me  a 
share,"  and  her  eyes  began  to  glitter  in  an  avaricious 
manner. 

"No,"  said  Vand,  in  his  most  peremptory  tones,  "we 
have  had  enough  of  this  rubbish." 

"Oh,"  sneered  his  wife,  "you  admit  then  that  it  is 
rubbish?" 

"Yes,  now  that  I  know  Miss  Huxham  played  the 
ghost.  Granny" — he  turned  to  the  old  woman — "all 
your  teachings  of  the  unseen  have  proved  false,  so  you 
can  take  yourself  out  of  this  house,  and  never  come 
near  it  again." 

Bella,  quite  believing  that  the  old  woman  was  a 
fraud,  and  knew  the  truth  of  what  she  had  spoken 
when  in  her  so-called  trance,  expected  to  see  her  defy 
the  man  she  had  accused.  But  in  place  of  doing  so 
Granny  Tunks  flung  the  tail  of  her  white  cloak  over  her 
head  and  moved  towards  the  door.  Seeing  her  retreat, 
Mrs.  Vand,  after  the  manner  of  bullies  and  cowards, 
became  suddenly  brave.  Leaping  towards  the  old 
creature,  and  before  her  husband  could  restrain  her,  she 
struck  her  hard  once  or  twice  between  the  shoulders. 
"Get  out  of  this,  you  lying  cat !  Go  to  the  devil,  your 
master,  you  vile  animal!" 

Vand  caught  back  his  infuriated  wife  with  a  fierce 
oath,  but  Granny  still  continued  on  her  way  out  of  the 
room.  As  she  passed  into  the  dark  hall  she  turned  and 
sent  a  glance  at  Mrs.  Vand  which  made  that  triumphant 
tyrant  shiver  in  her  shoes.  But  she  did  not  defend  her- 
self in  any  way,  and  shortly  the  three  in  the  vast 
drawing-room  heard  the  front  door  open  and  shut. 
Granny  Tunks  was  gone,  and  with  her  seemed  to  dis- 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  233 

appear  the  malignant  influence  which  had  hung  over 
the  house  for  so  long.  Bella  did  not  believe  in  witch- 
craft, but  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  old 
woman  must  have  exercised  some  evil  spell,  and  now 
had  departed  taking  her  familiar  with  her.  At  all 
events,  the  air  seemed  to  be  clearer  for  her  absence. 

"Now  then,"  said  Vand,  addressing  Bella  in  his  usual 
courteous  way,  "as  you  are  satisfied,  Miss  Huxham, 
perhaps  you  will  go  also." 

"No,"  said  Bella  determinedly.  "I  believe  that 
Granny  spoke  truly,  and  that  you  and  my  aunt  have 
something  to  do  with  the  murder." 

"It's  a  lie!"  shouted  Mrs.  Vand  furiously,  and  would 
have  struck  her  niece,  as  she  had  struck  Granny,  but 
that  Vand  kept  her  back.  "Why  should  I  murder  my 
own  dear  brother?" 

"To  get  the  heritage  you  now  enjoy,"  said  Bella 
firmly.  "I  don't  say  you  actually  murdered  him, 
but " 

"I  should  think  you  didn't,  indeed,"  raved  Mrs. 
Vand,  stamping  in  impotent  wrath.  "You  heard  what 
I  said  at  the  inquest.  What  I  said  then  is  true.  I  left 
this  house  at  seven  o'clock  with  Tunks,  as  he  can  prove. 
I  was  all  the  evening  with  Henry,  as  he  can  swear  to, 
and  he  left  me  on  the  other  side  of  the  boundary  chan- 
nel. I  came  in  quietly  at  ten  and  went  to  bed.  I  never 
knew  that  Jabez  was  dead  until  the  next  morning,  and 
then  I  woke  you.  And  as  I  was  out  of  the  house  from 
seven  until  ten,  how  could  I  have  murdered  my  brother 
— your  poor  dead  father — when  the  doctor  declared 
that  he  was  struck  down  shortly  after  eight?  How 
dare " 

"You  forget,"  interrupted  Bella  quickly,  "that  Dr. 
Ward  said  the  murder  was  committed  between  eight 
and  eleven,  so  that  gave  you  an  hour  to " 

"Grant  me  patience,  heaven!''  cried  Mrs.  Vand,  cast- 
ing up  her  eyes.    "Why,  the  coroner  himself  said  that 


234  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

the  poor  dear  must  have  been  murdered  shortly  after 
eight  o'clock,  since  I  came  in  at  ten  and  saw  no  light 
in  the  study." 

"Ah,"  said  Bella  significantly,  "he  declared  that 
on  your  evidence  and  because  he  hated  Dr.  Ward,  and 
wished  to  put  him  in  the  wrong." 

"Then  you  accuse  me  of  murder?" 

"No;  I  accuse  you  of  nothing." 

"You  say  that  I  am  guilty?"  asked  Vand,  suddenly 
but  quietly. 

"I  do  not  say  so,  but  Granny  Tunks  did." 

"If  so,  would  she  not  have  accused  me  to  my  face 
when  I  turned  her  out  of  the  house?"  said  Vand 
earnestly.  "I  assure  you,  Miss  Huxham,  that  I  had  no 
motive  to  kill  your  father.  I  was  quite  content  to 
wait,  even  though  Rosamund  and  I  were  secretly  mar- 
ried. Besides,  on  that  night  I  left  Rosamund  on  the 
further  side  of  the  boundary  channel,  as  she  can  prove. 
Also  my  mother  can  show  that  I  returned  to  my  home 
at  fifteen  minutes  past  ten,  and  that  I  was  in  bed  by 
half-past.  There  is  not  a  shred  of  evidence  to  support 
this  unfounded  charge  you  have  made." 

"I  did  not  make  it,.    Granny  said " 

"I  know  what  she  said,"  interrupted  Vand  imperi- 
ously. "Hold  your  tongue,  Rosamund,  and  let  me 
speak.  Granny  said  what  she  did  say  in  a  trance.  At 
one  time  I  really  believed  in  such  things;  now,  and 
especially  since  our  ghost  has  proved  to  be  you,  I  have 
ceased  to  believe.  You  heard  merely  the  raving  of  an 
old  beldame.  I  dare  say  she  wished  to  blackmail  my- 
self and  Rosamund  by  bringing  this  unfounded  charge, 
and  chose  this  so-called  trance  to  bring  the  charge. 
If  she  really  has  any  grounds  to  go  upon — and  I 
swear  that  she  has  not — she  will  doubtless  go  to  the 
police  to-morrow." 

"And  I  hope  she  will  go !"  Cried  Mrs.  Vand  angrily, 
"for  then  Henry  and  I  can  have  her  up  for  libel.     No 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  235 

wonder  everyone  is  so  disagreeable !  Granny,  no  doubt, 
has  been  spreading  all  manner  of  reports  against  us. 
I  daresay  we  are  regarded  as  a  couple  of  criminal, 
gory,  murdering  assassins,"  ended  Mrs.  Vand,  with 
a  fine  choice  of  words. 

Bella  was  puzzled.  Like  the  Vands  themselves,  she 
did  not  believe  in  the  occult  arts  with  which  Granny 
Tunks  was  supposed  to  be  familiar,  and  it  was  not  un- 
likely that  the  clever  old  woman  intended  to  risk  black- 
mail. Certainly,  if  Mrs.  Tunks  could  really  prove  the 
guilt  of  Vand,  she  would  not  have  retreated  so  easily 
when  he  ordered  her  out  of  the  house,  much  less  would 
she  have  condoned  the  blow  of  Mrs.  Vand.  If  Granny 
honestly  could  prove  her  case,  she  was  mistress  of  the 
situation;  but  as  she  had  slunk  away  so  quietly,  it 
seemed  that  she  had  merely  spoken  from  conjecture. 
Bella  began  to  think  she  had  been  too  precipitate  in 
revealing  herself,  as  the  Vands  decidedly  had  right 
on  their  side. 

"Yet,  after  all,"  she  said  reluctantly,  "how  did  Gran- 
ny come  to  know  about  the  jewels?" 

"Jewels!  Had  Jabez  really  jewels?"  asked  Mrs. 
Vand  avariciously. 

"Yes,"  said  Bella  coldly.  "I  read  some  papers  which 
proved  that  he  had  jewels  valued  at  forty  thousand 
pounds." 

"Where  did  you  get  those  papers  ?" 

"I  refuse  to  tell  you  that,"  retorted  the  girl, 
anxious  not  to  incriminate  Mrs.  Tunks  until  she  had 
interviewed  her. 

"You  must  tell !"  yelled  Mrs.  Vand,  her  face  on  fire 
with  rage  and  expectation.  "You've  come  in  sneaking 
by  these  secret  passages  to  steal.  Jabez  never  gave 
you  any  of  his  papers.  They  are  mine,  and  if  they 
tell  where  the  jewels  are,  you  minx " 

"They  don't  tell  where  the  jewels  are."  inter- 
rupted Bella,  "but  they  state  how  Captain  Huxham 


236  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

murdered  Maxwell  Faith  in  Nigeria  to  get  them." 

"You  talk  of  your  dead  father  as  Captain  Hux- 
ham,"  said  Mrs.  Vand  sniffing. 

Her  husband  made  a  gesture  of  silence.  "Maxwell 
Faith  was  the  name  mentioned  by  Granny  in  her 
trance,  and  she  also  spoke  of  this  murder.  Did  she 
see  the  papers  ?'* 

"Ah!"  Bella  was  suddenly  enlightened.  Perhaps 
Granny  had  learned  about  the  jewels  from  the  papers 
which  had  been  taken  from  the  carved  chest  in  the 
attic.  But  then  in  that  first  set  of  papers,  as  she 
thought,  the  name  of  Maxwell  Faith  had  not  been 
mentioned.  "Granny  saw  one  set  of  papers,  but  not 
the  set  I  mean." 

"Then  there  are  other  papers  you  have  stolen,"  cried 
Mrs.  Vand  furiously.  "Upon  my  word,  Bella,  you  are 
a  fine  thief  and  no  mistake.  Give  up  those  papers,  so 
that  we  may  learn  where  my  jewels  are." 

"They  are  not  your  jewels,  but  mine,"  said  Bella, 
stepping  back  into  the  hollow  left  by  the  open  panel, 
"and  you  shall  not  have  them." 

"Where  are  they  ?  where  are  they  ?"  cried  Vand,  be- 
coming excited  in  his  turn. 

"I  wish  I  knew,  but  I  don't.  Captain  Huxham  had 
them,  before  he  died " 

"Then  the  assassin  must  have  them." 

"Yes.    Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  who  is  the  assas- 


sin 


I  can't  say;  you  know  as  much  as  we  do,"  said 
Vand  coldly.  "If  I  had  murdered  the  old  man,  as 
you  were  so  ready  to  think,  on  Granny  Tunk's  rav- 
ings, I  should  have  the  jewels  and  long  since  would 
have  cleared  out  with  them.  But  the  fact  that  I  am 
still  here  with  Rosamund  proves  that  I  am  innocent." 
"We  must  go  and  see  the  police  to-morrow,  Henry," 
said  Mrs.  Vand,  "and  have  this  wicked  girl  arrested. 
She  must  be  made  to  give  up  the  papers  she  has  stolen. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  237, 

Oh!" — Mrs.  Vand  plunged  forward — "I  could  scratch 
her  eyes  out!" 

Undoubtedly  the  furious  woman  would  have  made 
the  attempt,  but  that  Bella  was  on  her  guard.  Already 
in  the  secret  passage,  she  had  only  to  touch  a  spring 
and  the  panel  sprang  back  into  its  place  with  a  click. 
In  the  darkness  Bella  heard  her  so-called  aunt  hurl 
herself  against  the  hard  wood,  using  very  bad  lan- 
guage. Then  came  the  beating  of  fists  against  the 
panel  in  the  vain  attempt  to  break  it  down.  Bella 
knew  that  the  panel  was  too  strong  to  break,  but 
thought  it  was  best  to  leave  the  house  as  speedily  as 
possible.  Cyril  was  waiting  for  her  near  the  boundary 
channel,  and  the  sooner  she  joined  him  the  better.  As 
she  turned  to  go  she  heard  the  high,  screaming  voice 
of  Mrs.  Vand  raging  wildly. 

"Go  up  on  the  roof  and  use  the  searchlight,  Henry !" 
shouted  Mrs  Vand.  "The  minx  will  get  out  of  the 
house  by  some  way  we  don't  know  of,  and  must  get 
down  the  corn-path.  I'll  catch  her  there,  and  you  show 
the  light  so  that  I  can  seize  her.    I'll  tear  her  hair  out ! 

I'll  scratch  her  eyes  out!  I'll  make  her  ill,  and " 

what  else  Mrs.  Vand  was  about  to  do  to  her,  Bella  did 
not  hear,  as  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  getting 
away  from  the  dangerous  neighborhood  of  the  infuri- 
ated woman. 

Bella  sped  along  the  narrow  passage  fearlessly,  as 
long  experience  had  made  her  acquainted  with  its  in- 
tricacies. It  was  contrived  in  the  thick  dividing  walls 
of  the  old  house  on  the  ground  floor.  At  one  part 
there  was  a  shaft  leading  to  another  passage  on  the 
first  floor,  and  up  this  it  was  possible  to  scramble  by 
notches  cut  in  the  walls.  Bella  had  half  a  mind  to 
ascend  to  the  upper  story,  and  linger  for  a  chance  of 
escape.  But  as  Cyril  waited  her  at  the  boundary  chan- 
nel, it  was  possible  that  he  might  come  into  contact 
with   Mrs.  Vand.  who  would  be  furiously  hunting. 


238  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

Therefore,  she  judged  it  best  to  leave  the  house  and 
gain  the  corn-path  before  Mrs.  Vand  could  intercept 
her.  With  this  scheme  in  her  mind  Bella  ran  along  the 
passage  until  she  came  to  a  door,  which  turned  on  a 
central  pivot.  This  she  twisted,  and  slipped  like  an  eel 
through  the  opening  to  find  herself  in  a  kind  of  tiny 
chamber.  Groping  round  this  she  soon  discovered 
the  hasp  of  a  closed  door,  which  she  skilfully  manipu- 
lated. The  door — a  narrow  one  and  somewhat  high — 
swung  open,  and  the  girl  was  outside  in  a  quiet  corner 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  hidden  fairly  well  by  a 
projecting  buttress.  A  screen  of  ivy  clothed  the 
Manor  wall  at  this  point,  and  the  door  was  concealed 
behind  the  screen,  so  that  its  existence  had  never  been 
suspected.  Bella  had  discovered  the  exit  from  the 
inside,  and  had  cut  round  the  ivy  that  masked  the  door 
so  that  she  could  get  it  open.  Of  course,  the  cut  ivy 
had  more  or  less  withered,  but  even  so,  no  one  guessed 
that  there  was  a  door  behind  the  brownish  oblong. 

The  night  was  dark  and  warm  and  silent.  Bella 
stole  along  the  footpath,  which  ran  between  the  house 
and  the  tall,  rustling  stalks  of  the  corn.  Several  times 
she  paused,  thinking  she  heard  a  noise,  but  everything 
was  still,  and  she  speedily  turned  the  corner  of  the 
mansion.  Apparently  Mrs.  Vand  was  not  on  the  hunt 
yet,  or  perhaps  she  was  busy  with  the  searchlight  which 
she  had  asked  her  husband  to  use.  However  this 
might  be,  Bella  saw  that  the  course  was  clear,  and 
stealing  round  to  the  front  door,  which  she  found  to 
be  closed,  she  sped  like  an  antelope  down  the  winding 
corn-path  which  led  to  the  boundary  channel.  Just 
as  she  reached  the  top  of  this  and  was  prepared  to 
start  down  it,  the  beam  of  the  electric  light  struck  into 
the  dark  sky. 

Huxham  had  rigged  up  the  light  on  the  flat  roof, 
between  the  sloping  tiles,  but  Vand  had  transferred  it 
to   the   quarter   deck,    which   was    slung   round   the 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  239 

chimney.  Thus  he  was  enabled  to  sweep  the  whole 
horizon  without  being  interrupted  by  the  tall  roofs  of 
the  Manor.  The  beam  swung  round  here  and  there, 
pointing  like  a  great  finger,  and  finally  settled  on  the 
corn-path  and  on  Bella's  dark  figure  running  for  dear 
life  from  the  mansion.  The  girl  heard  Vand's  shout 
as  lie  espied  her,  heard  also  the  front  door  opening, 
as  I T  rs.  Vand  rushed  in  pursuit. 

But  Mrs.  Vand,  like  Hamlet,  was  stout  and  scant 
of  breath,  and  with  all  the  will  in  the  world  urged  by 
a  venomous  hatred,  could  not  gain  on  her  detested 
niece,  who  ran  like  Atlanta.  The  search-beam  revealed 
the  path  plainly,  and  showing  the  flying  figure  of 
Bella,  with  Mrs.  Vand  panting  in  vindictive  pursuit. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  path  near  the  boundary 
channel  Bella  called  softly  and  breathlessly,  "Cyril! 
Cyril!  Mrs.  Vand  is  following.     Hide!  hide!" 

At  that  moment  the  beam  struck  the  boundary 
channel,  and  revealed  the  white-clothed  figure  of 
young  Lister.  It  rested  for  a  moment  there,  and  then 
dropped  back  to  aid  the  steps  of  Mrs.  Vand.  Cyril 
seized  the  chance  of  the  friendly  darkness,  and  as  Bella 
ran  into  his  arms  he  dragged  her  into  the  standing 
corn.  In  less  than  a  moment  they  were  lying  some 
distance  from  the  path  amongst  the  crushed  stalks, 
while  Mrs.  Vand  blundered  past,  running  unsteadily. 
If  Vand  had  kept  the  beam  on  Bella,  she  and  her 
lover  would  not  have  been  able  to  hide,  but  having 
been  forced  to  give  light  to  his  stout  wife,  the  two 
were  enabled  to  escape.  They  could  hear  Mrs.  Vand 
puffing  and  panting  like  a  grampus,  as  she  searched 
round  and  round.  In  Cyril's  arms,  on  Cyril's  breast, 
Bella  felt  perfectly  safe,  and  in  spite  of  the  position 
and  of  the  near  presence  of  her  enemy,  was  bubbling 
over  with  laughter. 

Mrs.  Vand  crossed  the  boundary  channel,  and  find- 
ing no  one  on  the  hither  side,  concluded  that  Bella  had 


240  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

escaped.  She  returned  slowly,  and,  as  Vand  had  now 
shut  off  the  beam — for  he  also  had  seen  that  the 
search  was  vain — she  stumbled  up  the  path  in  a  very 
bad  temper.  As  her  sighs  and  groans  died  away  and 
the  darkness  gathered  around,  Cyril  and  Bella  rose, 
and  gliding  back  to  the  verge  of  the  boundary  channel, 
crossed  rapidly.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  on  their 
way  to  Marshely. 

"What  does  it  all  mean,  dear?"  asked  Cyril,  when 
they  were  quite  safe. 

Bella  told  him  all  about  her  adventure. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   MASTER   MAGICIAN 

Next  morning,  Dora  being  at  school  as  usual,  Bella 
received  Cyril  and  Durgo  in  Miss  Ankers'  tiny  draw- 
ing-room to  discuss  the  position  of  affairs  with  regard 
to  the  Huxham  mystery.  In  the  negro's  opinion  it  was 
no  longer  a  mystery,  for  after  hearing  Bella's  account 
of  Granny  Tunics'  utterances  while  in  the  trance  he 
unhesitatingly  pronounced  Henry  Vand  guilty. 

"But  on  what  evidence?"  asked  Cyril,  who,  like 
Bella,  had  small  belief  in  the  manifestation  of  the  un- 
seen. 

"The  evidence  that  Granny  said  that  she  did  say," 
returned  Durgo  quietly. 

"That  evidence  would  not  be  accepted  in  a  court  of 
law,"  remarked  Bella. 

"I  am  aware  of  that.  I  have  not  been  to  Oxford 
for  nothing,  missy.  But  it  gives  me  a  clue,  which  I 
shall  follow  up.  This  afternoon  I  shall  see  Mrs.  Tunks 
and  question  her." 

"But  if  she  really  knows  anything,"  said  Cyril,  after 
a  pause,  "it  will  prove  that  her  trance  statements  were 
by  design  and  from  practical  knowledge." 

"I  am  sure  they  were,"  said  Bella  emphatically.  "I 
fancied  that  as  Granny  did  not  see  the  second  set  of 
papers,  which  Durgo  got  from  Mr.  Pence,  that  she  did 
not  know  the  name  of  Maxwell  Faith,  my  father.  But 
now  I  remember  that  in  the  first  set,  which  she  found 
and  delivered  to  you,  Durgo,  my  father's  name  was 
also  mentioned ;  also  the  number  and  the  value  of  the 
jewels.    All  her  talk  was  of  the  jewels." 


242  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"And  of  the  murder  of  your  real  father  by  Hux- 
ham,"  said  Durgo  drily ;  "that  was  not  in  the  first  set 
of  papers,  and  was  only  lightly  referred  to  in  the 
second  set." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Cyril  reflectively. 

"You  no  doubt  think  so,"  said  the  negro  calmly,  "as 
you  disbelieve  all  that  you  can't  see  or  prove.  I  know 
otherwise." 

"But,  Durgo,"  argued  Cyril,  surprised  at  this  as- 
sumption, "you  have  been  to  Oxford,  and  surely  must 
have  rid  yourself  of  these  barbarous  African  supersti- 
tions." 

"You  call  them  superstitions  because  you  don't  know 
their  esoteric  meaning.  But  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
magic,  white  and  black." 

"Magic!    Pshaw!" 

Durgo  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Of  course  I  never 
argue  with  an  unbeliever,  Cyril  Lister,"  he  said  indif- 
ferently, "but  the  Wise  Men  came  from  the  East,  re- 
member, and  Europe  is  indebted  to  the  East  for  most 
of  her  civilisation." 

"But  not  to  Africa." 

"Africa  has  had  her  ancient  civilisations  also.  In 
the  time  of  the  Atlanteans — but  it's  useless  talking  of 
such  matters.  All  I  say  is,  that  there  are  certain 
natural  laws  which,  when  known,  can  enable  anyone  to 
part  what  you  call  the  spirit  from  the  body.  When 
the  spiritual  eyes  are  open,  much  can  be  seen  that  it  is 
difficult  to  prove  on  the  physical  plane." 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by  these  planes," 
grrmbled  Lister. 

"Quite  so,  and  it  would  be  useless  for  me  to  explain. 
But  facts  beyond  your  imagining  exist,  and  had  I  the 
time  I  could  prove  much  to  you.  Mrs.  Tunks  is  what 
we  call  clairvoyant,  and  when  in  a  trance  state  can 
see — well,  you  heard  her  say  what  she  saw,  Miss 
Huxham." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  243 

Bella  was  also  sceptical.  "She  must  have  read  the 
first  set  of  papers  ?" 

"Probably  she  did,  since  woman  is  an  animal  filled 
with  curiosity,"  said  Durgo  good-humouredly.  "I 
don't  mean  to  say  that  Granny  Tunks  is  entirely  genu- 
ine. There  is  a  good  deal  of  humbug  about  her,  as 
there  is  about  all  the  Romany  tribes.  She  may  have 
known  about  the  jewels,  and  even  your  real  father's 
name,  but  she  did  not  know  about  his  murder.  Mrs. 
Tunks  has  a  small  portion  of  clairvoyant  power,  which 
does  not  act  at  all  times.  When  that  fails  her  she 
resorts  to  trickery."  , 

"Like  spiritualists?"  suggested  Cyril. 

"Exactly,"  assented  the  negro  with  decision.  "In 
all  phenomena  connected  with  the  unseen  there  is  a 
great  measure  of  truth,  but  charlatans  spoil  the  whole 
business  by  resorting  to  trickery  when  their  powers 
fail.  And  I  may  say  that  the  spiritual  powers  do  not 
act  always,  since  in  a  great  measure  we  are  ignorant 
of  the  laws  which  govern  them.  But  enough  of  this 
discussion.  I  do  not  seek  to  convince  you.  I  shall  see 
Mrs.  Tunks  this  afternoon  and  gain  from  her  actual 
proof  of  Vand's  guilt." 

"But  I  fancied  that  you  believed  my  father  to  be 
guilty,"  said  Cyril. 

"So  I  did,  and  if  he  were  I  would  not  mind,  since 
Huxham  was  a  rogue.    But  from  what  Miss  Faith — " 

"Miss  Huxham,"  interposed  Bella  hastily,  "until  this 
mystery  is  cleared  up." 

"Very  good.  Well,  from  what  Miss  Huxham  over- 
heard I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Vand  murdered  the 
old  sailor,  aided  by  his  wife." 

"For  what  reason  ?" 

"You  supplied  it  yourself,  Miss  Huxham;  so  that 
they  might  get  his  money." 

"But  what  about  Pence's  confession?"  said  Cyril. 
"He  might  have  committed  the  deed  himself." 


244  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"No;  he  had  no  reason  to  kill  the  old  man,  who  was 
on  his  side  in  the  matter  of  the  marriage  with  Miss 
Huxham  here.  Besides,  if  Pence  was  guilty  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  have  composed  what  he  did,  and  as- 
suredly would  not  have  produced  the  one  hundred 
pounds  he  stole.  Now  that  his  madness  for  Miss  Hux- 
ham is  past,  Pence  has  behaved  like  a  rational  being, 
and  will  do  his  best  to  assist  us  in  solving  this  mystery." 
Durgo  paused,  then  turned  to  the  white  man.  "Cyril 
Lister,  you  put  an  advertisement  into  several  London 
papers  a  week  ago  ?" 

"Yes;  I  did  so  without  telling  you,  as  I  hoped  to 
surprise  you  with  a  letter  from  my  father  telling  us  of 
his  whereabouts.    How  do  you  know?" 

"I  saw  the  Telegraph  yesterday  and  also  the  Daily 
Mail,"  said  Durgo,  nodding  approvingly;  "you  did 
well.    Have  you  had  any  answer  ?" 

"If  I  had  you  should  have  seen  it,"  said  Cyril, 
wrinkling  his  brows  as  he  always  did  when  he  was 
perplexed.    "What  can  have  become  of  him?" 

Durgo  struck  his  large  hands  together  in  despair. 
"I  fear  my  master  Edwin  Lister  is  dead,"  he  said 
mournfully. 

"Why?"  asked  Bella  and  her  lover  simultaneously. 

"Miss  Huxham,  you  repeated  to  me  that  Granny 
Tunks  in  her  trance  said  that  the  knife  lying  on  the 
floor  when  the  cripple  entered  to  kill  Huxham,  was 
already  bloody.    Can't  you  see?" 

"See  what?" 

That  if  the  knife  were  already  bloody,  Huxham 
must  have  killed  my  master  Edwin  Lister,  and  then 
was  killed  in  turn  by  Vand  the  cripple." 

Cyril  looked  impatient.  "That  is  all  the  black  magic 
rubbish  you  talk  of." 

"Well,  then,  if  my  master,  your  father,  is  alive  and 
has  the  jewels,  why  does  he  not  write  to  me  or  to 
you?     He  knows  he  can  trust  us  both.     Even  the 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  245 

advertisements  have  failed.  No" — Durgo  looked 
gloomy — "my  heart  misgives  me  sadly!"  He  arose 
abruptly.  "Meet  me  at  the  'Chequers/  Cyril  Lister, 
and  I  shall  tell  you  what  I  learn  from  Mrs.  Tunks." 
"Can't  I  come  also  to  see  her?" 
"Yes,  if  you  like.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  dispel 
your  disbelief  regarding  these  occult  powers  which  she 
and  I  possess." 

"Is  that  why  Mrs.  Tunks  calls  you  master?" 

"Yes.  She  recognised  that  I  had  higher  powers  than 
she,  when  we  first  met,  and  so  I  was  enabled  to  make 
her  get  those  papers.  Do  you  think  she  would  have 
done  so  unless  I  had  controlled  her?  No.  Not  even 
for  the  fifty  pounds  which  I  am  taking  to  her  to-day. 
She  can  make  a  better  market  out  of  Vand  and  his 
wife.    She  knows  their  guilt." 

"But  cannot  prove  their  guilt." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  negro  indifferently.  "Good- 
day",  and  he  departed  in  his  usual  abrupt  style,  after 
bidding  Cyril  meet  him  at  three  o'clock  at  the  hut  of 
the  so-called  witch.    The  lovers  looked  at  one  another. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it  all,  Cyril?"  asked  Bella 
timidly. 

"I  really  don't  know.  We  seem  to  be  involved  in  a 
web  through  which  we  cannot  break?  Durgo  certainly 
seems  to  be  a  very  strange  being,  and  in  spite  of  my 
disbelief  in  the  existence  of  occult  powers  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  he  knows  some  strange  things.  He  looks 
like  a  negro,  and  talks  and  acts  like  a  white  man. 
Indeed,  no  white  man  would  be  so  unselfish  as  to 
surrender  those  jewels  to  you  as  Durgo  has  done." 

"He  puzzles  me,"  said  Bella  thoughtfully. 

"And  me  also.  However,  the  best  thing  to  be  done 
will  be  to  leave  matters  in  his  hands.  In  one  way  or 
another  he  will  learn  the  truth,  and  then  we  can  get 
back  the  jewels  and  marry." 

"Do  you  think  your  father  has  the  jewels,  Cyril?" 


246  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"My  dear,"  he  said  frowning,  "I  can't  be  sure  now 
that  my  father  is  alive.  I  begin  to  believe  that  there 
may  be  something  in  Granny's  trances,  after  all,  since 
she  hinted  at  my  father's  death  at  Huxham's  hands. 
And  terrible  as  it  may  seem,"  added  Lister,  turning 
slightly  pale  with  emotion,  "I  would  rather  think 
that  he  was  dead  than  live  to  be  called  the  murderer 
of  Jabez  Huxham.  I  would  like  to  come  to  you,"  hs 
said,  folding  Bella  in  his  strong  young  arms,  "as  tl 
son  of  a  man  whose  hands  are  free  from  blood.  Bettj.- 
for  my  father  to  be  dead  than  a  criminal." 

The  two  talked  on  this  matter  for  some  time,  until 
their  confidences  were  ended  by  the  entrance  of  Dora, 
hungry  for  her  dinner.  Then  Cyril  took  his  leave, 
promising  to  return  and  tell  Bella  all  that  took  place 
in  Mrs.  Tunks'  hut.  Being  anxious,  the  girl  made  a 
very  poor  meal,  and  was  scolded  by  Dora,  who  little 
knew  what  was  at  stake.  But  Dora  supplied  one  un- 
conscious piece  of  information  which  surprised  her 
friend. 

"I  think  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vand  are  going  away  for  a 
trip,"  she  said  carelessly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Bella,  starting  so  vio- 
lently that  she  upset  the  water- jug. 

Dora  looked  surprised.  "My  dear,  you  are  not  so 
fond  of  your  aunt  as  to  display  such  emotion.  I  merely 
say  that  the  Vands  are  going  away." 

"When?    Where?    How  do  you  know?" 

"Very  soon,  I  believe,  as  they  are  packing,  but  where 
they  are  going  I  don't  know.  Sarah  Jope,  the  servant, 
whose  sister  is  at  the  school,  came  flying  home  last 
night  to  her  mother  with  a  cock  and  bull  story  about 
a  ghost  at  the  Manor.  This  morning  she  went  to  get 
her  belongings,  as  she  insists  upon  leaving  the  house. 
She  found  Mrs.  Vand  and  her  husband  packing  for 
immediate  departure  and  was  bundled  out  by  her  indig- 
nant mitsress,  boxes  and  all,  with  a  flea  in  her  ear. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  247 

Sarah  Jope's  sister  told  me  this  just  before  I  came 
home  to  dinner." 

"The  Vands  going  away!"  said  Bella  in  dismay. 
This  seemed  to  prove  that  they  were  guilty,  and  wished 
to  escape.  "I  thought  they  were  going  to  wait  for  the 
harvest  home." 

"I  daresay  they  will  be  back  in  a  month,  and  the 
Bleacres  corn  won't  be  reaped  until  then.  I  only  wish 
they  would  remain  away  altogether.  Your  aunt  is  a 
horrid  woman,  Bella,  though  her  husband  is  a  dear." 

Bella  did  not  echo  the  compliment,  for,  after  what 
she  had  seen  on  the  previous  night,  she  was  inclined 
to  think  that  Henry  Vand  was  the  worse  of  the  two, 
evil  as  his  wife  might  be.  At  all  events,  he  was  the 
stronger,  and  Rosamund  Vand  was  a  mere  tool  in  his 
hands.  She  was  on  the  point  of  going  to  Cyril's  lodg- 
ings to  warn  him  and  Durgo  of  this  projected  de- 
parture of  the  Manor-house  inhabitants,  but  on  reflec- 
tion she  concluded  to  wait  until  he  returned  from  Mrs. 
Tunks'  hut.  After  all,  the  Vands  could  not  leave 
Marshely  before  night-fall,  and  would  have  to  pass 
through  the  village  on  their  way  to  the  far-distant 
railway  station.  If  necessary  they  could  thus  be  inter- 
cepted at  the  eleventh  hour. 

Mrs.  Tunks  was  seated  by  the  fire  in  her  dingy  hut, 
absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts,  which  she  assisted  by 
smoking  a  dirty  black  pipe.  In  the  next  room  her 
grandson  still  turned  and  tossed,  watched  by  a  bright- 
eyed  gipsy  girl,  whom  the  old  woman  had  engaged 
from  a  passing  family  of  her  kinsfolk.  But  the  man 
no  longer  raved,  as  the  worst  of  the  delirium  had 
passed.  He  was  sensible  enough,  but  weak,  and  looked 
the  mere  shadow  of  his  former  stalwart  self.  Mrs. 
Tunks  feared  lest  he  should  die,  and  was  much  dis- 
turbed in  consequence,  as  he  was  her  sole  support. 
Without  her  grandson's  earnings  she  could  not  hope  to 
keep  a  roof  above  her  head,  as  her  fees  for  consulta- 


248  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

tions  as  a  wise  woman  were  woefully  small.  She  did 
not  dare  to  make  them  larger  in  case  her  visitors  should 
warn  the  police  of  her  doings.  And  Mrs.  Tunks,  for 
obvious  reasons,  did  not  wish  for  an  interview  with 
Dutton,  the  village  constable. 

Smoking  her  pipe,  crouching  over  the  smouldering 
fire,  and  wondering  how  she  could  obtain  money,  the 
old  woman  did  not  hear  the  door  open  and  shut.  Not 
until  a  black  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder  did  she 
turn,  to  see  that  Durgo  was  in  the  hut  with  Cyril 
behind  him.  Paying  no  attention  to  the  white  man, 
she  rose  and  fawned  like  a  dog  on  the  black. 

"He's  ill,  master,"  she  whimpered,  clawing  Durgo's 
rough  tweed  sleeve,  "and  if  he  goes  there's  no  one  to 
help  me.  Give  him  something  to  make  him  well;  set 
him  on  his  legs  again." 

"Do  you  think  I  can  do  so?"  asked  Durgo,  with  a 
grave  smile. 

Mrs.  Tunks  peered  at  him  with  her  bleared  eyes 
and  struck  her  skinny  hands  together.  "I  can  swear 
to  it,  master.  You  know  much  I  don't  know,  and  I 
know  heaps  as  the  Gorgios — my  curse  on  them! — 
would  give  their  ears  to  learn.  Come,  lovey — I  mean 
master — help  me  in  this  and  I'll  help  you  in  other 
ways." 

"Such  as  by  telling  us  who  murdered  Huxham,"  put 
in  Cyril  injudiciously. 

"Me,  deary!  Lor',  I  don't  know  who  killed  the  poor 
gentleman,"  and  Mrs.  Tunk's  face  became  perfectly 
vacant  of  all  expression. 

Durgo  turned  frowning  on  the  white  man.  "I  said 
that  I  would  let  you  come  if  you  did  not  speak,"  he 
remarked  in  a  firm  whisper;  "you  have  broken  your 
promise  already." 

Cyril  apologised  in  low  tones.  "I  won't  say  an- 
other word,"  he  said,  and  took  a  seat  on  a  broken 
chair  near  the  window. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  249 

Mrs.  Tunks  cringed  and  bent  before  Durgo,  evi- 
dently regarding  him  with  awe,  as  might  her  sister- 
witches  the  Evil  One,  when  he  appeared  at  festivals. 
The  negro  glanced  towards  the  closed  door  of  the  other 
room.  "Who  is  watching  your  grandson?"  he  asked 
sharply. 

"A  Romany  gal,  as  I  found " 

"That  will  do.  I  want  no  listeners.  Call  her  out 
and  turn  her  out" 

The  old  woman  entered  the  other  room,  and  soon 
returned  driving  before  her  a  black-eyed  slip  of  a  child 
about  thirteen  years  of  age.  This  brat  protested  that 
Tunks  was  restless  and  could  not  be  left. 

"I  shall  quieten  him,"  said  the  negro  quickly;  "get 
out,  you !"  and  he  fixed  so  fierce  a  glance  on  the  small 
girl  that  she  fled  rapidly.  And  Cyril  saw  that  the 
girl  was  not  one  easily  frightened. 

"Now  to  put  your  grandson  to  sleep,"  said  Durgo, 
passing  into  the  next  room,  and  Cyril  saw  his  great 
hands  hover  over  the  restless  man  on  the  bed.  He 
made  strange  passes  and  spoke  strange  words,  while 
Mrs.  Tunks  looked  on,  shaking  and  trembling.  In  two 
minutes  the  sick  man  lay  perfectly  still,  and  to  all 
appearances  was  sound  asleep.  Durgo  returned  to  the 
outer  room. 

"You'll  cure  him,  master,  won't  you  ?"  coaxed  Mrs. 
Tunks. 

"Yes.  I'll  cure  him  if  you  tell  me  what  you  know 
of  this  murder." 

"I  don't  know  anything,  master." 

Mrs.  Tunks  looked  obstinate  yet  terrified.  Durgo 
stared  at  her  in  a  mesmeric  sort  of  way,  and  threw  out 
his  hand.  The  woman  crouched  and  writhed  in  evident 
agony.  "Oh,  deary  me,  I'm  all  burnt  up  and  aching, 
and  shrivelled  cruel.  Don't — oh,  don't!  I'll  be  good. 
I'll  be  good ;"  and  she  wriggled. 

"Will  you  speak?"  said  the  negro  sternly. 


250  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"Yes,  yes !  only  take  the  spell  off  me,  deary — master, 
I  mean." 

"You  feel  no  pain  now,"  said  Durgo  quickly,  and 
at  once  an  air  of  relief  passed  over  Mrs.  Tunks' 
withered  face.  She  sat  down  on  a  stool  and  folded 
her  claw-like  hands  on  her  lap.  Durgo  leaned  against 
the  fire-place.  "What  do  you  know  of  this  murder?" 
he  asked. 

"I  don't  know  much,  save  what  he" — she  nodded 
towards  the  room  wherein  lay  her  sleeping  grandson — 
"what  he  said  when  he  was  mad  with  the  drink.  Get 
him  to  speak,  master,  and  you'll  learn  everything." 

"In  good  time  I'll  make  him  speak,"  said  Durgo  with 
impressive  quietness.  "Now  I  ask  your  questions. 
Answer!    Do  you  hear?" 

"Yes,  master;  yes,  I  hear.  I  answer,"  said  the 
trembling  old  creature. 

"Did  you  tell  the  truth  in  your  trance  last  night?" 

Mrs.  Tunks  looked  up  with  awe.  "He  knows  every- 
thing, does  the  master,"  she  breathed  softly,  then 
replied  with  haste,  "Yes.    I  spoke  of  what  I  saw." 

"Did  you  see  all  you  spoke  of,  or  did  you  make  up 
some?" 

"I  spoke  of  what  I  saw,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks  decidedly, 
"and  you  know,  master,  how  I  saw  it.  I  loosened  the 
spirit,  and  it  went  to  look.  But  I  don't  say  but  what 
I  didn't  know  much  from  what  Luke  raved  about." 

"So  you  knew  before  Vand  took  you  to  the  Manor- 
house  for  this  trance,  that  he  had  murdered  Huxham?" 

"Yes,  master,  I  did  know,  but  I  wasn't  sure  till  I 
saw  with  the  Sight." 

"Luke" — Durgo  nodded  towards  the  inner  room 
in  his  turn — "Luke  knows  that  Vand  murdered 
Huxham?" 

"Yes,  master.  I  believe,"  said  Granny,  sinking 
her  voice,  "that  he  saw  the  doings  through  the  win- 
dow of  the  study.     He  never  said  naught  to   me, 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  251 

though  I  wondered  where  he  got  so  much  money  to 
get  drunk  every  day.  But  when  he  was  mad  with  the 
drink,  he  talked  and  talked  all  the  night.  Then  I 
knew  that  he  had  got  money  from  Mr.  Vand  for 
holding  his  tongue." 

"Tell  me  what  he  said?"  commanded  Durgo. 

"He  raved  disjointed  like,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks  with 
great  humility;  "but  he  talked  of  Mr.  Vand  coming 
in  when  Captain  Huxham  was  looking  at  a  box  of 
jewels.  There  was  a  knife  on  the  floor,  and  Mr. 
Vand  stabbed  Captain  Huxham  with  that  knife,  and 
then  dropped  it  behind  the  desk." 

"Was  his  wife  with  him?" 

"No.    She  was  in  the  kitchen." 

"Was  there  another  man  with  Huxham  before 
Vand  came?" 

"Luke  said  nothing  of  that.  But  he  did  say," 
added  Mrs.  Tunks  quickly,  "that  he  was  going  to 
America  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vand,  and  raved  of  the 
good  time  he  would  have  with  them." 

"When  are  they  going?" 

"I  don't  know,  master.     Luke  didn't  say." 

Cyril  would  have  interrupted  to  ask  a  question 
about  his  missing  father,  as  he  could  not  understand 
why  Durgo  had  not  threshed  out  that  important 
point.  But  at  the  first  sound  of  his  voice  the  negro 
frowned  him  unto  immediate  silence.  When  all  was 
quiet,  Durgo  looked  directly  at  Granny,  and  made 
passes.  "Sleep,  sleep,  sleep!"  he  said,  and  Cyril  could 
see  by  the  working  of  his  face  that  he  was  putting  out 
his  will  to  induce  a  hypnotic  condition.    "Sleep,  I  say." 

The  old  woman  must  have  been  a  marvellously 
sensitive  subject,  for  she  leaned  against  the  wall — her 
stool  had  no  back — and  closed  her  eyes  in  apparent 
deep  slumber  almost  immediately.  Her  face  was 
perfectly  expressionless,  and  her  limbs  were  absolutely 
still.    She  looked — as  Cyril  thought,  with  a  shudder — 


252  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

like  a  corpse.  Durgo  spoke  softly  in  her  ear:  "Are 
you  free?"  he  asked  gently. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks,  in  a  far-away,  faint  voice. 

"Go  to  the  Manor-house." 

"I  am  there." 

"Enter!" 

"The  door  is  fast  closed,"  said  Mrs.  Tunks,  still 
faintly. 

"Doors  are  no  bars  to  you  now;  you  can  pass 
through  the  door." 

There  came  a  short  pause.  "I  have  passed.  I  am 
inside." 

"Seek  out  Vand  and  his  wife,"  commanded  the 
negro  softly. 

"I  have  found  them." 

"What  are  they  doing?"  demanded  Durgo, 
sharply. 

"Packing  boxes,"  came  the  response,  without  hesi- 
tation; "they  talk  of  going  away  to-night." 

"Where  to?" 

"I  can't  say:  they  don't  mention  the  place.  But 
they  leave  the  Manor-house  under  cover  of  darkness 
to-night." 

"Look  for  the  jewels." 

"I  have  looked." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"In  a  small  portmanteau,  marked  with  two 
initials." 

"What  are  the  initials?" 

"M.  F.  Oh!"  Mrs.  Tunks'  voice  became  very 
weary.  "The  mist  has  come  on.  I  can  see  no  more. 
It  is  not  permitted  to  know  more." 

Durgo  looked  disappointed,  and  seemed  inclined  to 
force  his  will.  But  after  a  frowning  pause,  he  waved 
his  hands  rapidly,  and  spoke  with  great  sharpness. 

"Come  back,"  he  said  briefly,  and  after  a  moment 
or  so,  the  old  woman  opened  her  eyes  quietly.     Her 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  253 

gaze  met  the  angry  one  of  Durgo,  and  she  winced. 

"Have  I  not  pleased  you,  master  ?"she  asked, 
timidly. 

"Yes.  You  have  pleased  me.  But  I  wish  you 
could  have  learned  more." 

"What  did   I   say?"  asked   Granny,   wonderingly. 

"Never  mind.  Here" — Durgo  produced  a  small 
canvas  bag  from  his  pocket — "this  is  the  money  you 
have  earned." 

Mrs.  Tunks  hastily  untied  the  mouth  of  the  bag, 
and  poured  a  glittering  stream  of  gold  into  her  lap. 
"Fifty  sovereigns,  lovey,"  she  mumbled,  her  eyes 
glowing  with  avaricious  delight.  "Thank  you, 
master;  oh,  thank  you." 

"In  an  hour,"  said  Durgo,  indifferent  to  her  thanks, 
"I  shall  send  you  a  small  bottle  containing  a  draught, 
which  you  can  give  to  your  grandson.  It  will  put 
him  right ;  but  of  course  a  few  days  will  elapse  before 
he  can  get  quite  strong  again.  This  place" — he  glanced 
disparagingly  round  the  dingy  hut — "is  not  healthy." 

"So  I  thought,  master.  And  to-night  Luke  is  going 
to  my  sister's  caravan.  It's  on  the  road  outside 
Marshely,  and  the  gel  can  take  him  there.  If  Luke 
has  a  month  or  two  of  the  open  road,  he'll  soon  be 
himself  again.  Anything  more  I  can  tell  you, 
master?" 

"No.  But  to-night  I  am  coming  here,  shortly  after 
moonrise.  Get  rid  of  your  grandson  beforehand,  if 
you  can." 

"What  is  to  be  done,  master?" 

"Never  mind.  Do  as  you're  told.  Good-day," 
and  Durgo,  beckoning  to  Cyril,  went  out  of  the  hut. 
The  white  man  followed,  in  a  state  of  great  amaze- 
ment. 

"How  did  you  manage  all  that?"  he  asked 
wonderingly. 

"Hypnotism,"  said  Durgo  shortly.     "You  heard 


254  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

that   Mr.   and   Mrs.   Vand   intend  to   fly  to-night?" 
"I  have  heard:  yet  I  cannot  believe  in  that  hanky- 
panky." 

Durgo  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  argued  no 
more.  But  when  Cyril  came  to  his  lodgings,  and 
found  a  note  from  Bella  stating  that  she  had  heard 
of  the  Vands'  intention  of  leaving  the  Manor-house, 
he  disbelieved  no  longer.  Nay,  more,  for  on  the 
authority  of  Mrs.  Tunks'  hypnotic  confessions,  he 
believed  that  the  Vands  also  possessed  the  long-sought- 
for  jewels. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  DESPERATE  ATTEMPT. 

When  the  darkness  came  on,  and  just  as  the  moon  was 
rising,  Lister  and  Bella  proceeded  to  the  plank  bridge 
of  the  boundary  channel.  Before  leaving  Cyril  on  that 
afternoon,  Durgo  had  intimated  that  he  wished  Miss 
Huxham  to  meet  him  at  that  hour  and  at  that  place,  and 
of  course  Cyril  came  also.  He  had  every  trust  in  the 
negro,  who  had  proved  himself  in  every  way  to  be  a  man 
of  sterling  worth.  All  the  same,  he  did  not  intend  to  let 
Durgo  meet  Bella  without  being  present.  The  black 
man  was  far  too  intimate  with  unseen  forces,  to  please  the 
white  man,  and  it  was  necessary  to  protect  Bella,  if  neces- 
sary. 

"He  might  put  you  into  a  hypnotic  trance,"  explained 
Cyril,  who  had  described  all  that  had  taken  place. 

"  I  should  not  let  him  do  that,"  said  the  girl  decidedly. 

Cyril  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Durgo  might  not  care 
if  you  liked  it  or  not.  He  would  hypnotize  you,  if  he 
wished." 

"No,  Cyril,  he  could  not  do  that  unless  I  consented. 
My  will  is  my  own,  and  it  is  a  strong  one.  I  suppose," 
said  Bella,  after  a  pause,  "that  he  made  Granny  feel 
those  aches  and  pains  by  controlling  her  subjective  mind." 

Lister  glanced  sideways  at  her  in  surprise.  "You 
seem  to  know  all  about  it ,"  he  declared.  "  Where  did  you 
learn  those  terms?" 

"  At  my  school  at  Hampstead  there  was  a  girl  who  could 
hypnotise  people.  She  read  all  manner  of  books  about 
hypnotism,  and  talked  about  the  subjective  mind,  al- 
though I  don't  know  what  it  is.     I  can  understand  so 


256  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

much  of  Durgo's  power  over  Granny.  But  that  sending 
her  spirit  to  the  Manor  is  strange.  I  don't  believe  that 
he  did." 

"He  must  have  done  so,"  insisted  Cyril,  "as  Durgo 
did  not  know  that  the  Vands  were  leaving,  and  Granny 
distinctly  stated  that  they  were,  in  my  hearing.  Also,  if 
we  find  that  the  jewels  are  in  the  small  portmanteau, 
marked  with  the  initials  M.  F.,  we  can  be  certain  that  her 
spirit  really  did  travel." 

'"M.  F.,"'  repeated  Bella,  dreamily:  "those  are  my 
father's  initials." 

"Maxwell  Faith.  So  they  are.  Humph!  There  is 
something  in  this  business  after  all,  Bella." 

"But  do  you  really  think  anyone  can  separate  the 
spirit  from  the  body?" 

Lister  reflected.  "I  don't  see  why  not.  After  all,  as 
St.  Paul  says,  we  are  composed  of  spirit,  soul  and  body, 
so  in  certain  cases  the  one  may  become  detached  from 
the  other.  I  remember" — he  looked  thoughtfully  up  to 
the  cloudy  sky — "I  remember  reading  in  some  magazine 
of  a  boat-load  of  people  being  saved,  owing  to  one  of  them 
transferring  his  spirit  to  a  passing  ship,  and  leaving  writ- 
ten instructions  in  the  cabin  where  the  ship  was  to  steer 
to." 

"Oh,  Cyril,  that's  impossible." 

"My  dear,"  he  said  drily,  "you  can  see  the  log  of  that 
very  ship,  containing  an  account  of  the  incident,  at  Somer- 
set House.  However,  we  have  no  time  to  discuss  these 
matters  further.  Yonder  is  Durgo  by  the  bridge.  I 
want  to  know  why  he  asked  you  to  meet  him  here.  Such 
a  night,  too" — Cyril  shivered — "quite  a  change.  I  feel 
cold." 

"So  do  I.  It  will  rain,  Cyril.  Look  at  that  heavy 
bank  of  clouds  behind  which  the  moon  is  hiding.  And 
oh,  how  dark  it  is!" 

It  certainly  was  dark,  and  the  two  came  very  near 
Durgo  before  they  saw  him.  The  sky  was  heavy  with 
gloomy  clouds,  and  undoubtedly  there  promised  to  be  rain 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  257 

before  midnight.  Durgo,  wrapped  in  a  heavy  military 
cloak,  stood  sentinel  by  the  plank  bridge.  When  the 
lovers  came  up  he  led  them  across  to  the  other  side,  and 
when  they  stood  on  Bleacres  he  used  his  great  strength  to 
rip  up  a  couple  of  planks. 

"There!"  said  the  negro,  flinging  these  into  the  stand- 
ing corn,  "  they  will  not  be  able  to  get  their  boxes  across, 
even  if  they  can  cross  themselves." 

"Are  you  talking  of  the  Vands?"  asked  Bella  quickly. 

"Yes;  they  are  still  at  the  Manor-house.    Look!" 

He  pointed  through  the  gloom,  and  they  saw  two  or 
three  windows  of  the  old  house  lighted  up  brilliantly. 
Across  other  windows  occasionally  flitted  more  lights. 
Apparently  Mrs.  Vand  was  anxiously  trying  to  impress 
the  neighbours  at  least,  such  as  might  be  abroad  on  this 
night — that  she  and  her  husband  were  ostentatiously  at 
home.     Durgo  laughed  grimly. 

"They  have  quite  an  eye  for  dramatic  effect,"  he  said 
in  his  guttural  voice,  and  very  contemptuously.  "Well, 
they  shall  have  all  the  drama  they  want  to-night,  and 
more." 

"Durgo,"  Bella  spoke  in  an  alarmed  tone,  "you  won't 
hurt  them?" 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it." 

Cyril  interposed  imperiously.  "I  shall  not  be  a  party 
to  the  breaking  of  the  law,"  he  said  with  sharpness,  "nor 
will  I  allow  Bella  to " 

"Cyril  Lister,"  interrupted  the  negro,  turning  on  him 
and  addressing  him  by  his  full  name,  as  was  his  odd  way; 
"if  I  could  bring  the  police  on  the  scene  I  would  do  so. 
But  you  know,  as  I  do,  that  we  have  no  proofs  save  those 
of  the  unseen,  which  would  not  be  accepted  in  a  court  of 
law,  to  prove  that  the  two  are  guilty  of  murder — of  a 
double  murder  for  all  I  know." 

"A  double  murder!"  echoed  Bella,  drawing  closer  to 
her  lover. 

"  Yes.  Edwin  Lister,  my  master,  has  disappeared,  and 
Huxham  is  dead.     The  old  sailor,  certainly,  may  have 


258  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

killed  my  master,  but  on  the  other  hand,  as  I  believe,  Vand 
murdered  Huxham,  and  probably  murdered  Edwin  Lister 
also.  Howsoever  this  may  be,  we  can  prove  neither 
murder,  so  it  is  not  advisable  to  bring  the  police  into  the 
matter. 

"It  would  be  safer,"  said  Cyril  uneasily.  He  feared 
lest  Durgo's  barbaric  instincts  should  be  aroused  against 
the  couple  at  the  Manor-house. 

"It  would  not  be  safer,"  retorted  the  negro.  "While 
the  police  were  debating  and  searching,  the  Vands  would 
be  getting  out  of  the  kingdom,  and  we  could  not  stop  them. 
Besides,  they  have  the  jewels.  I  am  certain  of  that  from 
what  Granny  Tunks  saw  when  I  loosened  her  spirit. 
Once  the  Vands  got  news  of  the  police  being  on  their 
track  they  would  hide  those  jewels,  and  we  should  never 
find  them.  I  want  those  jewels  for  you,  Miss  Huxham, 
as,  before  I  leave  England,  I  wish  to  see  you  happily 
married  to  Cyril  Lister  here.  It  is  the  least  that  I  can  do 
for  his  father's  son." 

"But  if  my  father  is  alive  and  has  the  jewels?"  asked 
Cyril  doubtfully. 

"That  will  make  a  difference,"  assented  Durgo,  "al 
though  I  daresay  that  Edwin  Lister  will  not  mind  returning 
the  jewels.  We  can  arrange  our  funds  for  the  expedition 
in  another  way.  But  I  fear,"  he  added  in  gloomy  tones, 
"that  my  master  is  dead.  If  so,  I  can  only  avenge 
him." 

"But  with  your  occult  powers,  can't  you  learn  if  my 
father  is  dead  or  alive?" 

"No,"  said  Durgo  very  decidedly.  "You  forget  that 
on  the  side  of  the  unseen  are  mighty  powers  who  have  to 
be  obeyed.  I  can  do  much,  but  not  all,  and  for  some 
reason  I  am  not  permitted  to  know  the  truth  about  my 
master.  Sooner  or  later  I  shall  understand  about  this. 
What  we  have  to  do  at  the  present  time  is  to  prevent  the 
Vands  from  escaping.     Will  you  both  help?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bella,  anticipating  Cyril;  "that  is  if  you 
don't  intend  violence." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  259 

"Be  comforted,"  said  Durgo  ironically;  "be  com- 
forted, missy.  I  have  no  wish  to  put  a  rope  round  my 
neck.  I  simply  mean  to  force  these  devils  to  give  up  the 
jewels,  and  to  solve  so  much  of  this  mystery  as  they 
know.  When  I  regain  the  jewels  and  know  what  has 
become  of  my  master,  I  shall  let  them  go,  or  if  you  like  I 
shall  hand  them  over  to  the  police.  But  time  presses," 
added  Durgo  impatiently,  "and  at  any  time  the  two  may 
come  along  on  their  way  to  freedom.    Will  you  help?" 

"Yes,"  said  Cyril  simply.  "What  do  you  want  us  to 
do?" 

"Missy" — Durgo  turned  to  the  girl — "can  you  work 
that  search-light?" 

Bella  nodded.  "For  an  evening's  amusement  my 
father — I  mean  Captain  Huxham — once  showed  me  how 
to  manipulate  it." 

"Well  it  is  in  good  order,  as  we  know  that  Vand  used  it 
last  night.  You  can  get  into  the  house  by  the  secret  pas- 
sage and  watch  for  the  going  out  of  our  two  friends.  Then 
turn  on  the  search-light  and  use  it  as  a  pointer." 

"  I  can  use  the  search-light,  and  I  daresay  it  is  in  order 
since  Henry  Vand  used  it  last  night,"  said  Bella  quickly; 
"  also  I  can  get  to  the  upper  part  of  the  house  and  on  to 
the  roof,  through  a  kind  of  well  which  runs  from  the  lower 
to  the  higher  secret  passage.  But  what  do  you  mean  by 
my  using  the  light  as  a  pointer?" 

"Direct  the  ray  on  to  Vand  and  his  wife;  they  may 
come  down  this  path,  or  they  may  try  and  escape  in  an- 
other way.  But  if  you  bend  the  ray  of  the  search-light  to 
where  they  are,  I'll  be  able  to  catch  them.  Use  the  ray 
as  a  finger,  as  it  were." 

Bella  nodded.     "I  see,  and  where  will  you  be?" 

"I  shall  hide  in  the  corn  somewhere  or  another,"  ex- 
plained Durgo.  "I  don't  know  where,  as  I  can't  be  sure 
how  Vand  and  his  wife  intend  to  escape." 

"They  may  take  the  boat,"  suggested  Cyril,  "and  that 
is  tied  up  some  distance  yonder.  I  believe  they  will  use 
the  boat." 


260  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"No;"  said  Durgo  shaking  his  head;  "there  is  no  place 
where  they  can  row  to,  as  this  channel  ends  in  mere  swamps. 
All  I  can  do  is  to  walk  here  and  there,  and  watch  for  the 
finger  of  the  search-light." 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  asked  Cyril  anxiously;  "go  with 
Bella?" 

No  you  wait  in  Mrs.  Tunk's  hut.  I  daresay  she  is 
alone,  as  I  asked  her  to  send  her  grandson  away  to  his 
gipsy  caravan  before  I  came.  I  shall  walk  down  with 
you,  while  Miss  Huxham  goes  to  the  Manor-house." 

"I  would  rather  go  with  Bella,"  objected  the  young 
man  uneasily. 

"I  am  quite  safe,"  said  Bella  determinedly,  "and  if  you 
came,  Cyril,  there  would  be  no  room  for  us  both  in  that 
narrow  secret  passage.  I  shall  go  by  myself.  Have  no 
fear  for  me,  dearest." 

"  One  moment,"  said  Durgo,  as  she  was  moving  away. 
"  Since  you  think  that  I  may  use  violence,  I  may  tell  you, 
to  quieten  your  minds,  that  the  police  are  coming,  after 
all." 

"When  did  you  tell  the  police  to  come?  I  thought  you 
said " 

"Yes,  yes!"  interrupted  the  negro  impatiently.  "I 
know  what  I  said.  But  I  saw  Inspector  Inglis  the  other 
day  when  I  went  to  Pierside,  and  informed  him  of  my 
suspicions.  I  wired  him  to-day  asking  him  to  be  with 
three  or  four  men  on  the  bank  of  the  boundary  channel 
opposite  to  Granny  Tunks'  hut." 

"At  what  time?" 

"About  eleven,  as  I  don't  suppose  that  the  Vands  will 
try  and  escape  until  everyone  in  Marshely  is  asleep." 

"Did  you  tell  Inglis  about  the  jewels?"  asked  Cyril. 

"No,  there  is  no  need  to  tell  more  than  is  necessary. 
Besides,  the  police  might  take  possession  of  the  jewels, 
and  I  want  them  for  Miss  Huxham.  All  Inglis  knows  is 
that  I  suspect  the  Vands  of  a  double  murder,  and  that  they 
intend  to  fly.  He  will  come  with  his  constables  to  arrest 
them  if  there  is  sufficient  evidence." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  261 

"But  I  say,  Durgo.  I  wanted  you  to  do  as  you  say, 
some  time  ago,  and  you  talked  of  it  not  being  advisable 
to  bring  the  police  into  the  matter.  It  seems  that  you 
have  done  so." 

"  It  is  a  fact,"  said  Durgo  drily.  "  I  didn't  wish  to  tell 
you  all  my  plans  at  once,  as  you  and  Miss  Huxham  here 
seemed  to  be  so  certain  that  I  intended  blue  murder.  If 
you  had  not  been  ready  to  trust  me,  I  should  not  have 
changed  my  mind  or  have  told  you  about  the  presence  of 
the  police.  You  look  on  me  as  a  barbarous  black 
man." 

"We  look  on  you  as  a  very  good  friend,"  said  Bella 
quickly,  for  the  negro  seemed  hurt  by  their  suspicions. 

"There!  there!"  said  Durgo  gruffly,  but  bowing  to  the 
compliment.  "Go  to  the  Manor-house,  Miss  Huxham, 
and  do  what  you  can." 

"Good-bye,  Cyril,"  said  Bella. 

The  young  man  ran  after  her  as  she  moved  up  the  corn 
path.  "  Don't  go  without  a  kiss,  Bella,"  he  said,  catching 
her  in  his  arms.  "  God  keep  you,  my  darling,  and  bring 
us  safely  through  this  dark  business!" 

"I'm  not  afraid,  now  that  I  know  Inspector  Inglis  and 
his  men  will  be  on  the  spot,"  whispered  Bella.  "  Good- 
bye! and  good-bye!  and  good-bye!"  and  she  kissed 
him  between  each  word.  In  a  few  minutes  she  was 
swallowed  up  in  the  gloom,  which  was  growing  denser 
every  minute. 

"There  will  be  a  storm,"  prophesied  Durgo,  as  the 
two  men  proceeded  side  by  side  to  Mrs.  Tunks'  hut. 
"Hark!" 

Just  as  he  spoke  there  came  a  deep,  hoarse  roll  of 
thunder,  as  though  the  artillery  of  heaven  was  being  pre- 
pared to  bombard  the  guilty  pair  in  the  old  Manor-house. 
Durgo,  with  the  instinct  of  a  wild  animal,  raised  his  nose 
and  sniffed.  "  I  smell  the  rain.  Glory !  look  at  the  light- 
ning." 

A  vivid  flash  of  forked  lightning  zig-zagged  across  the 
violent-hued  sky,  and  again  came  the  crash  of  thunder. 


262  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

Already  the  wind  was  rising,  and  the  vast  fields  of  corn 
were  rustling  and  sighing  and  bending  under  its  chill 
breath.  "It  is  going  to  be  a  fierce  night,"  said  Durgo, 
dilating  his  nostrils  to  breathe  the  freshness  of  the  air. 
"Do  you  remember  in  Macbeth,  Cyril  Lister,  of  the  night 
of  Duncan's  murder?"  and  he  quoted  in  his  deep  voice — 

" — but  this  sore  night, 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings" 

Cyril  looked  at  the  strong  black  face,  which  showed 
clearly  in  the  frequent  flashes  of  lightning.  "You  are  a 
strange  man,  Durgo.  One  would  think  that  you  were 
almost — "  he  hesitated. 

"A  white  man,"  finished  Durgo  coolly.  "No,  my 
friend.  I  am  an  educated  black  man,  and  an  ingrained 
savage."  He  spoke  mockingly,  then  flung  back  his 
military  cloak.  "Look!  Would  a  man  be  like  this  in 
your  sober  England?" 

Cyril  uttered  an  ejaculation,  and  had  every  reason  to. 
In  the  bluish  flare  of  the  lightning  he  saw  that  Durgo  had 
stripped  himself  to  a  loin-cloth,  and  that  his  powerful 
body  was  glistening  with  oil.  The  sole  civilised  things 
about  him  were  canvas  running-shoes  which  he  wore,  and 
the  cloak.  "Why  have  you  stripped  to  the  buff?"  asked 
Cyril  astonished. 

"  I  may  have  hard  work  to  catch  those  two  this  night," 
said  Durgo,  replacing  his  cloak,  which  made  him  look 
quite  respectable,  "so  I  wish  to  run  as  easily  as  possible." 

"But  there  was  no  need  to  strip.  The  police  won't 
be  stripped." 

"  It's  my  way,  and  was  the  way  of  my  fathers  before  me." 

"  In  Africa,  but  not  in  England." 

"Pooh!"  was  all  that  Durgo  answered,  and  the  two 
trudged  along,  bowing  their  heads  against  the  now  furiously 
driving  wind.  Shortly  they  came  to  Mrs.  Tunks'  hut, 
and  the  door  was  opened  by  the  old  woman  herself. 

"I  felt  that  you  were  coming,  master,"she  said,  nodding. 
"Enter." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  263 

"No,"  said  Durgo,  pausing  on  the  threshold  of  the  ill- 
smelling  room.  "I  have  to  go  back  to  my  post  and  watch 
for  the  coming  of  the  Vands.  Mr.  Lister  will  remain 
here.    Has  your  grandson  gone?" 

"No,  lovey — I  mean  master,"  said  Granny  coaxingly. 
"  He's  ever  so  much  better  for  the  medicine  you  gave  him, 
and  is  quite  his  own  self.  But  I've  sent  the  gel  to  get  a 
boat  to  take  him  to  the  caravan.  They've  moved  it  down 
the  channel  to  a  meadow  near  the  high  road.  The  gel 
will  bring  the  boat  up  here  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  take 
Luke  back  with  her;  then  he'll  go  on  the  merry  road  with 
her  and  my  sister." 

"You  should  have  sent  Luke  away  before,"  said  Durgo 
frowning,  "for  he  knew  all  about  the  murder,  and  has 
blackmailed  the  Vands.  Inglis  and  his  constables  will 
be  on  the  opposite  bank  to  this  place  soon,  and  they  may 
arrest  him.  I  shan't  say  more  than  I  can  help,  but  get 
him  away  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"Yes,  master;  yes,  deary;  yes,  lovey!"  croaked  the  old 
woman;  and  Durgo,  with  a  significant  glance  at  her  and  a 
nod  to  Cyril,  turned  away  into  the  gloom. 

"Won't  you  come  in,  lovey?"  asked  Mrs.  Tunks  coax- 
ingly. 

"No,"  said  Cyril,  who  did  not  relish  the  malodorous 
hut;  "I'll  stay  here  and  watch  for  the  signal." 

"What  signal?"  demanded  the  witch  wife. 

"Never  mind.  Go  in!"  commanded  Lister,  and  set- 
tled himself  under  the  eaves  of  the  hut  to  keep 
guard. 

Granny  scowled  at  him  as  she  obeyed.  She  did  not 
mind  cringing  to  Durgo,  who  was  her  master  in  the  black 
art,  but  she  objected  to  Cyril  ordering  her  about.  Had 
Granny  really  possessed  the  powers  she  laid  claim  to  she 
would  have  blighted  his  fresh  youth  on  the  spot.  As  it 
was,  she  simply  muttered  a  curse  on  what  she  regarded  as 
his  impertinence,  and  went  indoors. 

Cyril  lighted  his  pipe  and  kept  his  eyes  on  the  distant 
mass  of  the  Manor-house,  which  was  revealed  blackly 


264  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

when  the  lightning  flashed.  Across  the  ocean  of  grain 
tore  the  furious  wind,  making  it  rock  like  an  unquiet  sea. 
Flash  after  flash  darted  across  the  livid  sky,  and  every 
now  and  then  came  the  sudden  boom  of  the  thunder. 
Hour  upon  hour  passed  until  the  watcher  almost  lost 
count  of  time.  Within  the  cottage  all  was  quiet,  although 
at  intervals  he  could  hear  the  querulous  voice  of  Mrs. 
Tunks  shrilly  scolding  the  Romany  girl.  Lister  began  to 
grow  impatient,  as  he  dreaded  lest  Bella  should  have 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  the  Vands,  who  would  certainly 
show  her  no  mercy.  It  was  in  his  mind  to  leave  his  post 
and  see  for  himself  what  had  occurred.  Suddenly  a  long 
clear  beam  smote  through  the  darkness  of  the  night,  and 
he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"They  have  left  the  house,"  muttered  Cyril,  thrusting 
his  pipe  into  his  pocket;  "what's  to  be  done  now?" 

The  lightning  was  not  quite  so  frequent,  so  the  vivid 
beam  of  the  search-light  had  full  and  fair  play.  But  as 
the  lightning  ceased  and  the  thunder  became  silent,  a 
deluge  of  rain  descended  on  the  thirsty  earth.  On  its 
strong  wings  the  wind  brought  the  rain,  and  a  tropical 
down-pour  almost  blotted  out  the  haggard  moon,  which 
now  showed  herself  between  driving  clouds.  But  through 
the  steady  beam  of  the  search-light  could  be  seen  the 
straight  arrows  of  the  rain,  and  the  vast  corn-fields  hissed 
as  the  heavy  drops  descended.  Here  and  there  swung  the 
ray  of  light,  evidently  looking  for  the  fugitives,  but  as  it 
did  not  come  to  rest,  Cyril  guessed  that  Bella  had  not  yet 
descried  the  flying  couple.  But  the  rain  was  so  incessant, 
and  the  wind  so  strong,  that  he  was  angered  to  think  how 
Bella,  on  the  high  altitude  of  the  quarter  deck,  was  ex- 
posed to  its  fury. 

Suddenly,  as  sometimes  happens  in  furious  storms, 
there  came  a  lull  both  in  the  wind  and  the  rain.  A  per- 
fect silence  ensued,  and  Cyril  straining  his  ears,  heard  the 
soft  dip  of  oars.  As  he  peered  towards  the  black  gulf  of 
the  water-way  running  past  the  hut,  the  ray  from  the 
Manor-house   became   steady,    and    the   finger    of   light 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  265 

pointed  straight  to  the  boundary  channel.  Cyril  heard  a 
wild  shriek  and  ran  down  to  the  bank.  Coming  along 
the  stream  he  saw  a  light  boat,  and  in  it  Mrs.  Vand  hud- 
dled up  at  the  end  in  her  shawl.  Vand  himself  was 
rowing  with  great  care:  but  when  the  beam  revealed  their 
doings  he  lost  all  caution  and  rowed  with  desperation. 
Again  came  a  drench  of  rain,  almost  blotting  out  the  land- 
scape, but  the  ray  of  light  still  picked  out  the  guilty  couple, 
following  the  course  of  the  boat  steadily,  like  an  avenging 
angel's  sword. 

"Row,  Henry,  row  hard!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Vand,  crouch- 
ing in  the  stern  of  the  boat  and  steering  down  the  narrow 
channel  as  best  she  could,  "We'll  soon  be  safe.  Row 
hard,  dear!  row  hard!" 

"Stop!"  cried  Cyril  from  the  bank.  "Mrs.  Vand,  you 
must  wait  here  until  the  police  come.    Stop!" 

"The  police!"  yelled  the  terrified  woman,  and  her 
face  was  pearly  white  in  the  brilliant  search-light.  "  Row, 
Henry;  don't  stop!" 

Lister  whipped  out  a  revolver,  with  which  he  had  been 
careful  to  provide  himself.  "  If  you  don't  stop,  Vand,  I 
shall  shoot,"  and  he  levelled  it. 

But  the  cripple  was  too  desperate  to  obey.  He  bent 
again  to  the  oars  and  brought  the  shallop  sweeping  right 
under  Cyril's  feet.  Then,  before  the  young  man  could 
conjecture  what  he  intended  to  do,  he  stood  up  in  the 
rocking  boat  and  swung  up  an  oar  with  the  evident  in- 
tention of  striking  the  man  with  the  revolver  into  the  water. 
Lister  dodged  skilfully  as  the  oar  came  crashing  viciously 
past  his  ear,  and  fired  at  random. 

Mrs.  Vand  shrieked,  her  husband  cursed,  as  the  shot 
rang  out.  There  came  an  answering  cry  from  the  near 
distance,  and  into  the  glare  of  the  search-light  bounded 
Durgo,  naked  save  for  his  loin-cloth,  black  as  the  pit  and 
furious  as  the  devil  who  lives  therein.  Showing  his  white 
teeth  like  those  of  a  wild  animal,  he  raced  up  to  the  boat, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  flung  himself  on  the 
figure  of  Vand  as  he  stood  up.    The  next  moment  the 


266  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

light  craft  was  overturned,  and  Durgo,  with  the  Vands, 
was  struggling  in  the  water.  At  the  same  moment  the 
beam  of  the  search-light  suddenly  vanished,  leaving 
everyone  in  complete  darkness.  .And  the  rain,  driven 
by  the  triumphant  wind,  deluged  the  fields. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

MRS.  VAND'S  REPENTANCE 

Afterwards,  Cyril,  when  questioned,  could  never 
clearly  recollect  what  took  place.  Vand's  oar  had  missed 
his  head,  but  had  struck  his  right  shoulder  with  con- 
siderable force,  so  that  his  revolver  shot  had  gone  wide  of 
its  intended  mark.  When  Bella  shut  off  the  beam — and 
Cyril  wondered  at  the  time  why  she  did  so — everything 
was  dark  and  confused.  What  with  the  gloom,  the  rain 
and  curses  from  Vand  and  Durgo,  who  were  struggling 
in  the  water,  and  the  shrieks  of  Mrs.  Tunks,  added  to 
those  of  the  half-drowned  woman,  Cyril  felt  his  head 
whirl;  also  the  blow  from  the  oar  had  confused  him,  and 
he  became  sick  and  faint  for  the  moment. 

Granny  Tunks  with  commendable  forethought  had 
brought  out  a  bullseye  lantern,  which  she  must  have 
stolen  from  some  policeman.  Flashing  this  on  to  the 
water-way,  its  light  revealed  Durgo  and  the  cripple  locked 
in  a  deadly  embrace,  and  Mrs.  Vand  clinging  to  the  bank 
with  one  hand  while  she  clutched  her  shawl  with  the  other. 
Cyril  thereupon  plunged  down  the  incline  and  dragged 
the  wretched  woman  out.  Thinking  she  was  about  to 
be  arrested  she  fought  like  a  wild  cat,  and  would  have 
forced  the  half-dazed  young  man  into  the  water  again, 
but  that  Mrs.  Tunks  brought  a  chunk  of  wood  with  con- 
siderable force  down  on  her  head. 

"What  the  devil  did  you  do  that  for?"  gasped  Cyril 
furiously;  "you've  killed  her,  you  old  fool!" 

"What  do  I  care,  deary?"  cried  Granny  shrilly.  "I'd 
kill  them  both  if  I  could,  for  the  master  wants  them  killed, 
curse  them  both!"  and  she  tottered  down  to  the  boundary 
channel,  while  Cyril  carried  the  inanimate  form  of  Mrs. 


268  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

Vand  into  the  hut.  Here  he  laid  her  on  the  floor,  and 
hastily  bidding  the  Romany  girl  attend  her,  hurried  out 
again. 

" They're  dead,  both  of  them!  Oh,  the  master's  dead ! " 
yelled  Granny  Tunks. 

With  the  lantern  raised  she  stood  on  the  bank  peer- 
ing into  the  water,  but  there  was  scarcely  enough  light 
to  see  what  was  taking  place.  All  sounds  had  ceased, 
however,  and  only  the  drench  of  the  rain  could  be  heard. 
But  even  as  Granny  spoke,  the  Romany  girl,  anxious  to 
see  what  was  taking  place,  darted  out  of  the  cottage  with 
a  kind  of  torch,  consisting  of  tow  at  the  end  of  a  stick 
steeped  in  kerosene.  This  flared  redly  and  flung  a  crim- 
son glare  on  the  water-ways,  and  flung  also  its  scarlet 
light  on  the  bodies  of  Durgo  and  the  Cripple.  These  lay 
half-in  and  half-out  of  the  water,  fast  locked  together  in 
a  death  grip.  There  was  no  wound  apparent  on  either 
body,  so  Cyril  conjectured  that  in  the  struggle  both  had 
been  drowned.  Durgo's  mighty  arms  were  clasped 
tightly  around  the  slender  body  of  the  cripple,  but  Vand's 
lean  hands  were  clutching  the  negro's  throat  with  fierce 
resolution.  Both  were  quite  dead,  and  even  in  death 
Cyril,  although  he  tried,  could  not  drag  them  apart.  That 
so  delicate  a  man  as  Vand  could  have  contrived  to  drown 
the  powerful  negro  seemed  incredible  to  Cyril:  but  he 
soon  saw  that  to  kill  Durgo  the  cripple  had  been  willing 
to  sacrifice  himself.  Probably  he  had  dragged  Durgo 
under  water,  and  having  a  grip  on  the  man's  throat  had 
squeezed  the  life  out  of  him  with  a  madman's  despairing 
force.  The  weak  had  confounded  the  strong  on  this 
occasion  in  a  most  pronounced  manner. 

Meanwhile,  Granny  Tunks  was  bewailing  the  loss  of 
her  master,  and  the  sharp-featured  Romany  girl  echoed 
her  cries.  The  screams  of  both  brought  out  Luke,  who 
appeared  at  the  fire-lighted  door  of  the  hut  looking  much 
better  than  Cyril  expected  him  to  be,  seeing  how  severe 
had  been  his  last  illness.  He  had  something  in  his  hands, 
and  in  the  flaring  light  of  the  torch  Lister  saw  that  it  was 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  269 

a  somewhat  small  black  bag.  In  a  moment  the  young 
man  guessed  that  Luke  Tunks  had  been  robbing  the  un- 
conscious Mrs.  Vand,  as  he  remembered  that  she  had 
kept  a  close  grip  of  something  under  her  shawl  even  while 
she  was  struggling  with  him. 

"The  jewels!"  cried  Cyril,  too  excited  to  be  cautious, 
and  leaped  for  the  gipsy.     "  Give  me  the  jewels." 

"They're  mine,  blast  you!"  growled  Luke,  trying  to 
evade  him.  "Missus  gave  'em  to  me.  Leave  me  alone. 
Granny,  help  me!" 

Mrs.  Tunks  ran  to  the  rescue,  for  the  mention  of  jewels 
stirred  her  avaricious  blood  like  the  call  of  a  trumpet. 
But  already  Cyril  had  plucked  the  black  bag  from  the  still 
weak  gipsy,  and  Luke  was  not  strong  enough  yet  to  make  a 
fight  for  it.  Aided  vigorously  by  the  Romany  girl,  the 
old  woman  would  have  closed  in,  but  that  a  shout  from 
the  opposite  bank  made  all  turn.  A  dozen  bullseyes  were 
flashing  over  the  stream.  Cyril,  gripping  the  bag,  dashed 
the  woman  and  the  man  aside  and  sprang  to  the  verge 
of  the  channel. 

"Is  that  you,  Inspector  Inglis?"  he  shouted. 

"Yes;  who  are  you?"  came  the  sharp  official  tones. 

"  Cyril  Lister.  Come  over  yourself,  or  send  some  men. 
Vand  and  Durgo,  the  negro,  are  dead." 

There  was  a  confused  muttering  of  surprise  amongst 
the  constables.  Then  came  Inglis's  clean-cut  speech. 
"We  heard  a  shot.    Is " 

"No.  Durgo  struggled  with  Vand  in  the  waterway, 
and  they  were  both  drowned.  These  gipsies  here  are 
making  trouble,  and  Mrs  Vand  is  unconscious  in  the  hut. 
Come  across  and  take  charge." 

"How  the  devil  can  we  get  across  here?"  demanded 
Inglis.  "It's  twenty  feet  of  water.  Here  you  men,  go 
round  by  the  bridge." 

"  It's  broken  down,"  yelled  Cyril. 

"Who  broke  it?" 

"Durgo.  Let  go,  you  old  devil!"  and  Cyril  swung 
Granny  Tunks  aside.     The  woman  was  still  trying  to 


270  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

clutch  the  jewels.     "Inglis,  you'll  have  to  swim  across. 
There's  no  other  way." 

No  sooner  had  Lister  suggested  this  expedient  than 
Inglis  obeyed  it  with  the  promptitude  of  an  Englishman. 
Several  heavy  bodies  were  heard  plunging  into  the  water, 
and  the  bullseye  lanters  were  seen  approaching  like 
moving  glow-worms  as  their  swimming  owners  held  them 
above  their  several  heads.  Had  Granny  Tunks  been 
strong  enough  she  would  have  attempted  to  prevent  the 
landing  of  this  hostile  force;  but  Luke  was  useless  and  the 
Romany  girl  still  more  so.  All  she  could  do  was  to  enter 
the  fortress  of  her  hut  and  bar  the  door,  which  she  accor- 
dingly did,  while  Luke,  mindful  that  he  might  be  arrested 
for  the  murders  as  an  accomplice  after  the  fact,  slunk 
hastily  into  the  standing  corn.  Shortly  Cyril  was  shaking 
hands  with  a  dripping  police  inspector,  and  surrounded  by 
six  dripping  constables.  As  the  half  dozen  men  and  their 
officer  were  already  wetted  to  the  bone  by  incessant  rain, 
the  plunge  into  the  channel  did  not  trouble  them  in  the 
least;  indeed,  they  looked  as  though  they  rather  enjoyed 
the  adventure. 

"But  we  may  as  well  get  under  shelter  to  hear  your 
story,"  suggested  Inglis,  and  knocked  loudly  at  the  door 
of  the  hut.  As  Granny  would  not  open,  he  simply  turned 
to  his  men  and  gave  a  sharp  order.  "Break  it  down," 
said  Inglis,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  the  constables  were 
marching  into  the  small  apartment  over  the  fallen  door. 

"I'll  have  the  law  on  you  for  this!"  screeched  Mrs. 
Tunks,  shaking  her  fist. 

"You'll  get  a  stomach-full  of  law,  I  have  no  doubt, 
before  I  have  done  with  you,"  retorted  Inglis.  "Who  is 
this?"  and  he  stared  at  the  inanimate  form  on  the  earthen 
floor  amidst  pools  of  water. 

"Vand's  wife,  who  was  trying  to  escape  with  him," 
said  Cyril.  "  She  is  insensible  from  a  blow  this  old  demon 
gave  her." 

"She'd  have  had  you  in  the  water  else,"  hissed  Mrs. 
Tunks  scornfully. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  271 

"It  wasn't  unlikely,  seeing  how  she  fought.  Have  you 
any  brandy?" 

"A  trifle  for  my  spasms,"  admitted  Granny  sullenly. 

"Then  bring  it  out  and  revive  Mrs.  Vand,"  said  Inglis 
impatiently.  "It  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  question 
her.  Mr.  Lister  "—he  brought  his  mouth  very  close  to 
the  young  man's  ear  and  spoke  in  a  whisper — "is  what 
that  nigger  told  me  quite  true?" 

"About  Vand  murdering  Huxham?  I  believe  it  is,- 
but  I  can't  be  sure.  I  got  these,  however,  from  Mrs. 
Vand.  Don't  let  the  old  hag  come  near  or  she'll  try  and 
loot  them." 

"Loot  what?"  demanded  Inglis,  on  seeing  Cyril  open 
the  black  bag,  after  he  had  motioned  the  constables  to 
surround  the  table.    "  Oh,  by  Jupiter!" 

His  surprised  ejaculations  were  echoed  by  his  men, 
for  Lister  emptied  on  the  table  many  glittering  stones,  cut 
and  uncut.  Chiefly  they  were  diamonds,  but  also  could 
be  seen  sapphires,  rubies,  pearls,  and  emeralds,  all  glow- 
ing with  rainbow  splendour  in  the  fierce  radiance  of  the 
bullseye  lanterns.  Mrs.  Tunks  whimpered  like  a  beaten 
dog  when  she  saw  what  she  had  missed,  and  tried  to  dart 
under  a  policeman's  arm.  "No  you  don't!"  said  the  man 
gruffly,  and  gripped  her  lean  wrist  as  her  hand  stretched 
greedily  over  the  flaming  heap  of  gems. 

"Whose  are  these?"  asked  the  inspector,  quite  awed 
by  this  wealth. 

"Miss  Huxham's,"  said  Cyril,  making  a  ready  excuse 
until  such  time  as  the  matter  could  be  looked  into,  for  he 
did  not  wish  Inglis  to  take  possession  of  Bella's  fortune. 
"Her  father  left  her  these  and  the  house  to  Mrs.  Vand; 
but  the  woman  withheld  the  jewels  from  her  niece,  and 
tried  to-night  to  bolt  with  them.  Then  Luke  Tunks 
attempted  to  steal  them  from  her,  while  she  lay  uncon- 
scious here.  Luckily  I  was  enabled  to  rescue  them,  and 
now  I  can  restore  them  to  Miss  Huxham." 

"Where  is  Luke  Tunks?"  nsked  the  inspector,  while 
Cyril  packed  the  gems  in  a  chamois  leather  bag  which 


272  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

he  found  in  what  Granny  had  called  in  her  trance  the 
portmanteau. 

"  Gone  where  you  won't  get  him,"  grunted  Mrs.  Tunks, 
who  was  holding  a  glass  of  brandy  to  Mrs.  Vand's  white 
lips. 

"You  must  get  him,  Inglis,"  said  Cyril  insistently. 
"He  knows  all  about  the  murder  of  Huxham,  and  has 
been  blackmailing  the  Vands." 

"  So  that  nigger  said.  By  the  way,  we  must  see  to  the 
bodies."  Inglis  turned  to  the  door,  then  looked  back  at 
Lister.  "I  wish  I  knew  what  this  all  meant,  sir,"  he 
remarked,  much  puzzled. 

"You  shall  know  everything  in  due  time,  and  a  very 
queer  story  it  is." 

The  inspector  might  have  gone  on  asking  questions, 
but  at  that  moment  Bella  Huxham,  breathless  and  wet, 
appeared  in  the  doorway.  In  the  semi-darkness  she 
could  scarcely  see  her  lover,  and  called  him.  "Cyril! 
Cyril!  what  has  happened?"  she  panted.  "I  have  run 
all  the  way,  and — who  are  these?" 

"Inspector  Inglis  and  constables,"  said  that  officer. 
"Where  have  you  come  from,  miss?" 

"From  the  Manor-house.  I  went  to  see  my  aunt,  and 
saw  her  run  away  with  her  husband.  Where  is  she? 
Where  is  he?" 

"There  is  Mrs.  Vand,"  said  Cyril,  pointing  to  the  still 
insensible  woman,  "and  her  husband  is  dead  in  Durgo's 
arms." 

Bella  shrieked.     "Is  Durgo  dead?" 

"Yes,  unfortunately.  Vand  clutched  his  throat  and 
dragged  him  under." 

"  But  so  weak  a  man " 

"He  sacrificed  his  own  life  to  kill  Durgo,"  said  Cyril. 
"What's  to  be  done  now,  inspector?" 

Inglis  acted  promptly.  "One  of  my  men  can  stay 
here  to  look  after  the  old  woman,"  he  said  officially,  "and 
the  rest  can  help  me  to  take  the  bodies  of  Vand  and  the 
nigger  back  to  the  Manor-house.    We  must  take  possession 


.THE  SOLITARY  FARM  273 

of  that  place  until  everything  is  made  clear  at  the  inquest. 
What  will  you  do,  Miss  Huxham?  Better  get  home. 
This  is  no  place  for  a  lady." 

"I  must  stay  and  revive  my  aunt,"  said  Bella,  who 
already  was  bending  over  the  woman  and  had  the  glass  of 
brandy  in  her  hand. 

"Good,"  said  Inglis,  motioning  his  men  to  file  out. 
"  I'll  come  back  and  question  her  when  you  get  her  right 
again.    Mr.  Lister!" 

"With  your  permission,  Mr.  Inspector,  I'll  wait  here 
with  Miss  Huxham,"  said  Cyril  significantly.  "I  don't 
trust  these  two  women" — he  looked  at  Granny  and  the 
Romany  girl — "  also  Luke  Tunks  might  be  lurking  about. 
If  Miss  Huxham  were  left  here  alone — "  his  shrug  com- 
pleted the  sentence. 

"Dutton  will  keep  guard  at  the  door,"  said  Inglis, 
selecting  the  village  constable,  a  fresh-faced,  powerful 
young  man,  "and  if  these  women  try  any  games  he  can 
take  them  in  charge.  Also,  Dutton" — he  turned  to  the 
man,  who  had  already  posted  himself  as  directed — "you 
can  hold  Luke  Tunks  should  he  turn  up.  I  want  to 
question  him  also,"  after  which  orders  Inglis  with  a  nod 
went  out.    Cyril  followed. 

The  bodies  were  duly  found,  and  the  inspector  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  surprise  when  he  saw  that  Durgo  was 
nude.    "  What  does  this  mean  ?" 

"Mean!"  said  Cyril,  who  looked  over  his  shoulder, 
"simply  that  Durgo,  in  spite  of  his  Oxford  training,  was 
a  savage  at  heart.  He  arranged  a  trap  to  catch  the  Vands, 
and  stripped  so  as  to  be  prepared  for  any  emergency." 

"Rum  notion,"  said  Inglis,  who  looked  puzzled.  "But 
what  had  he  to  do  with  all  this  murder  business?" 

"He  was  my  father's  friend,"  explained  Lister,  "and 
— "  he  stopped  on  seeing  the  eager  faces  around  him, 
adding  in  lower  tones,  "what  I  have  to  explain  is  for 
your  own  ear  in  the  first  instance,  inspector." 

Inglis  looked  grave,  and  even  suspicious.  "There 
seems  to  be  much  to  explain,  Mr.  Lister,"  he  said  seriously. 


274  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"However  you  can  stay  here.  I  shall  take  the  bodies 
to  the  Manor-house  and  thoroughly  search  the  place. 
When  I  return  I  hope  to  hear  your  story  and  to  examine 
Mrs.  Vand.  It  seems  to  me,"  added  the  officer,  as  he 
turned  away,  "that  the  mystery  of  the  Huxham  murder 
is  about  to  be  solved  at  last." 

"I  think  so  myself,"  assented  Lister  soberly;  and  after 
seeing  the  six  men  take  up  their  burden  of  the  dead,  he 
returned  to  the  hut  in  silence. 

Here  he  found  Mrs.  Vand,  pale  but  composed,  sitting 
up  on  the  floor  with  her  back  propped  up  against  the  wall. 
Granny  Tunks,  looking  very  sulky,  was  on  her  hunkers 
before  the  fire  smoking  her  cutty  pipe,  and  the  Romany 
girl  could  be  seen  lying  on  Luke's  vacated  bed  in  the  inner 
room.  Only  Bella  was  attending  to  the  woman  she  had 
called  aunt  for  so  long,  and  who  had  so  persecuted  her. 
She  was  urging  Mrs.  Vand  to  speak  out. 

"You  must  tell  the  truth  now,"  said  Bella,  "for  the 
police  will  arrest  you." 

Mrs.  Vand  could  not  grow  paler,  for  she  was  already 
whiter  than  any  corpse,  but  a  terrified  look  came  into  her 
eyes.     "You'll  be  glad  of  that,  Bella?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl  earnestly;  "I  am  not  glad  to  see  you 
suffer.  You  have  been  cruel  to  me,  and  I  thought  that  I 
should  like  to  see  you  punished;  but  now  that  you  have 
lost  your  husband  and  are  so  miserable,  I  am  very  sorry, 
and  both  Cyril  and  I  will  do  our  best  to  help  you.  Tell 
all  you  know,  Aunt  Rosamund,  and  perhaps  you  will  not 
be  arrested." 

"  If  I  tell  all  I  know  I  am  sure  to  be  arrested,"  said 
Mrs.  Vand  sullenly. 

"But  surely  you  did  not  murder  your  own  brother?" 

"  No,  I  didn't.  Badly  as  Jabez  treated  me  I  did  not  kill 
him,  although  I  don't  deny  that  I  wished  for  his  death. 
Well,  he  is  dead  and  I  got  his  money,  and  now — "she 
buried  her  shameful  face  in  her  hands  wailingly — "oh! 
my  poor  dear  Henry,  I  have  lost  him  and  lost  all.  As 
to  you" — she  suddenly  lifted  up  her  head  to  glare  furiously 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  275 

at  Cyril,  who  was  leaning  against  the  door-post  a  few 
yards  from  the  watching  policeman — "you  have  been  the 
evil  genius  of  us  all.    Where  are  my  jewels?" 

"They  are  in  this  bag,"  said  Lister,  holding  it  up,  "  and 
they  belong  to  Bella." 

"Jabez  left  everything  to  me,"began  Mrs.Vand,  when 
Cyril  interrupted. 

"  These  jewels  were  not  his  to  leave.  They  were  the 
property  of  Maxwell  Faith,  who  was  a  trader  and " 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Vand,  cutting  him 
short,  "and  Bella  is  his  daughter,  you  were  going  to  say." 

"Yes;  therefore  the  jewels  are  her  property.  Who 
told  you  of " 

"LukeTunks  told  me." 

"That's  a  lie!"  snarled  Granny  from  her  stool  near 
the  fire. 

"It's  the  truth,"  gasped  Mrs.  Vand,  taking  another  sip 
of  the  brandy  which  Bella  held  to  her  lips.  "Luke  was 
dodging  round  the  house  on  the  night  of  the  murder  and 
peeped  in  at  the  study  window.  He  overheard  the  inter- 
view between  Jabez  and  Edwin  Lister." 

"What!"  Cyril  took  a  step  forward  in  sheer  surprise. 
"You  know  my  father's  name  also?" 

"  I  know  much,  but  not  all,"  said  Mrs.  Vand  in  a  stronger 
voice,  for  the  spirit  was  taking  effect.  "For  instance,  I 
don't  know  what  became  of  Edwin  Lister,  but  Luke 
does." 

"Then  Luke  shall  be  arrested  and  questioned." 

"He  shan't!"  muttered  Granny  venomously.  "Luke's 
escaped — a  clever  boy." 

Bella  put  her  arm  round  Mrs.  Vand  to  render  her  more 
comfortable.  "  How  much  did  Luke  tell  you  ?"  she  asked 
softly. 

"Only  so  much  as  cheated  us — Henry  and  I — into 
paying  him  money." 

"Oh,"  said  Cyril  quietly,  "so  that  is  why  Luke  got  so 
drunk." 

"He  spent  his  money  in  drink,"  said  Mrs.  Vand  in- 


276  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

differently.  "We  paid  him  a  good  deal.  He  never 
would  have  left  us,  and  intended  to  go  to  America  with  us 
to-night,  as  he  knew  too  much  for  our  safety." 

"How  did  you  intend  to  escape?"  asked  Cyril  sharply. 

"  We  intended  to  row  down  the  channel  to  the  swamps; 
that  is  why  Henry  got  the  boat  a  few  weeks  ago.  Then 
we  intended  to  cut  across  the  marshes  to  the  high  road, 
where  a  motor-car,  hired  by  Henry,  awaited  us.  It  would 
have  taken  us  to  London,  and  there  we  could  have  con- 
cealed ourselves  until  a  chance  came  to  get  to  the  States. 
Everything  was  cut  and  dried,  but  you " 

"No,"  said  Lister  seriously;  "it  was  not  I  who  stopped 
you,  but  Durgo." 

"That  negro?  Then  I  am  glad  he  is  dead!"  cried 
Mrs.  Vand,  who  was  getting  more  her  old  self  every 
minute.  "However,  it's  all  done  with  now-  You  have 
the  jewels,  Henry  is  dead,  and  I  don't  care  what  becomes 
of  me." 

" But  who  murdered  my  father?"  asked  Bella  earnestly. 

"  Jabez  wasn't  your  father.  Maxwell  Faith  was  your 
father,  for  Luke  overheard  Edwin  Lister  say  as  much  to 
Jabez." 

"And  what  became  of  Edwin  Lister?" 

"  I  don't  know;  Luke  never  told  me  that  All  he  said 
was  that  he  saw  and  heard  the  two  talking.  Then  he 
left  the  window,  and  only  returned  to  see  Henry  stab  my 
brother." 

"Oh!"  Cyril  and  Bella  both  uttered  ejaculations  of 
horror. 

"Yes,  you  may  say  'oh'  as  much  as  you  like,  but  it's 
true,"  said  Mrs.  Vand  with  great  doggedness.  "Henry 
came  with  me  to  the  Manor-house  on  that  night  at  ten 
o'clock.  He  did  not  stop  at  the  boundary  channel,  as  he 
declared.  He  only  said  that  to  save  himself.  But  he 
came  with  me,  and  we  saw  my  brother,  who  was  in  his 
study.  We  confessed  that  we  were  married,  and  then 
Jabez  grew  angry  and  said  he  would  turn  me  as  a  pauper 
out  of  the  house  next  morning.    He  drove  Henry  and 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  277 

myself  out  of  the  room.  I  fainted  in  the  kitchen,  and 
when  I  came  to  myself  Henry  was  bending  over  me,  very 
pale.  He  said  he  had  killed  Jabez  with  a  knife  which  he 
found  on  the  floor.  I  had  seen  the  knife  before  when  we 
were  telling  Jabez  about  our  marriage.  But  in  the  excite- 
ment I  didn't  pick  it  up." 

"Was  there  blood  on  the  knife?"  asked  Cyril,  remem- 
bering Granny  Tunks'  trance,  as  reported  by  Bella. 

"I  can't  say;  I  don't  know.  I  was  too  flurried  to  think 
about  the  matter.  All  I  know  is  that  Henry  killed  Jabez 
with  that  knife  which  Jabez  brought  from  Nigeria,  and 
then  dropped  it  behind  the  desk." 

"What  took  place  exactly?"  asked  Cyril  hastily,  while 
Bella  closed  her  eyes. 

"Ask  Luke;  ask  Luke,"  said  Mrs.  Vand  testily,  "He 
knows  all,"  and  she  refused  to  say  another  word. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

WHAT  LUKE  TUNKS  SAW 

As  Mrs.  Vand  obstinately  refused  to  speak,  there  was 
little  use  for  Bella  to  remain  in  the  hut.  The  girl  was 
sick  and  faint  with  all  she  had  gone  through,  and  wished 
to  get  home  to  rest.  Cyril  also  was  anxious  to  follow 
Inglis  and  his  officers  to  the  Manor-house  to  see  what  had 
been  discovered  likely  to  prove  the  truth  of  Mrs.  Vand's 
statements.  But  before  going,  Bella  made  a  last  attempt 
to  induce  her  presumed  aunt  to  confess  all  in  detail. 
"It's  your  sole  chance  of  getting  out  of  this  trouble," 
said  Bella,  who  was  now  sorry  to  see  her  enemy  brought 
so  low. 

"I  don't  care  if  I  get  out  of  the  trouble,  or  if  I  do  not," 
said  Mrs.  Vand  wearily.  "Henry  is  dead,  just  as  we 
were  on  the  eve  of  happiness,  so  I  don't  much  care  what 
becomes  of  me." 

"Could  you  have  been  happy  in  America  knowing 
your  husband  to  be  a  murderer?"  asked  Cyril,  skep- 
tically. 

"Certainly,"  returned  the  woman  with  great  com- 
posure. "I  knew  all  along  that  Henry  had  struck  the 
blow;  but  I  daresay  Jabez  goaded  him  into  doing  so,  as 
poor  Henry  was  so  good  and  weak." 

"Weak!"  echoed  Cyril,  remembering  all.  "He  was 
not  very  weak  to  kill  an  active  man  like  Captain  Huxham, 
and  a  strong  negro  such  as  Durgo  was." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Vand  exultingly,  and  contradicting 
herself  in  a  truly  feminine  way,  "Henry  was  a  man — 
none  of  your  weaklings.  If  we  had  only  escaped  with 
those" — she  stared  hard  at  the  black  bag  which  con- 
tained the  jewels — "but  it's  no  use  fretting  now.  Every- 
thing is  at  an  end,  and  Bella  is  glad." 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  279 

"No,  I  am  not,  Aunt  Rosamund " 

"I  am  not  your  aunt;  I  don't  wish  to  be  your  aunt." 

"All  the  same,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,"  said  Bella, 
with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  "and  if  I  can  do  anything  to 
help  you  let  me  know.  Good-bye,  aunt,  and  may  God 
watch  over  you."  She  bent  and  kissed  the  lined  fore- 
head. 

"Don't  you  believe  that  I  killed Jabez?"  faltered  Mrs. 
Vand,  somewhat  touched. 

"No,"  said  Bella  quietly.  "I  believe  what  you  say. 
Henry  killed  Captain  Huxham,  and  like  a  true  wife  you 
held  your  tongue  to  save  him.  I  should  have  done  ex- 
actly the  same  had  Cyril  been  guilty." 

"You're  a  good  girl,  Bella.  I'm  sorry  I  was  so  hard 
on  you.  I  don't  suppose  there's  much  happiness  left  me 
in  this  life,  now  that  Henry  is  dead.  But  I  shall  repay 
you  for  those  kind  words.  There!  there!  Don't  kiss 
me  again.  I  have  been  mistaken  in  you.  Good-bye," 
and  Mrs.  Vand,  lying  down  on  the  floor  in  an  utter  state 
of  despair,  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 

Bella  had  to  leave  her  in  this  unsatisfactory  condition, 
as  there  was  no  chance  of  taking  her  home  to  Miss  Ankers' 
cottage.  Dutton  still  watched  by  the  door,  and  probably 
had  overheard  all  that  she  had  confessed,  even  though 
she  had  not  been  so  explicit  as  she  should  have  been.  But 
she  had  detailed  quite  sufficient  to  ensure  her  arrest  as  an 
accomplice  after  the  fact,  so  it  was  not  likely  that  Dutton 
would  permit  her  to  leave  the  hut  until  he  received  orders 
from  his  superior.  Under  the  circumstances  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done,  but  for  the  young  people  to  go,  which 
they  accordingly  did.  Granny  Tunks  flung  a  curse  after 
them  as  they  passed  out  into  the  night,  and  flung  also  a 
burning  sod  to  emphasise  the  curse. 

"Old  devil!"  said  Cyril,  comforting  Bella,  who  was 
crying.  "  Dutton,  lend  me  your  lantern,  as  the  path  along 
the  channel  is  dangerous." 

Dutton,  having  received  five  shillings,  made  no  ob- 
jection to  this,  provided  he  got  back  his  bullseye  later  in 


280  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

the  night.  Cyril  promised  to  return  it  when  he  came  back 
to  the  hut  with  Inglis,  and  then,  taking  Bella's  arm  he 
led  her  carefully  along  the  slipepry  path.  The  storm 
had  passed  and  the  wind  had  dropped,  but  the  clouds 
were  still  thick  enough  to  envelope  the  earth  in  murky 
darkness.  They  picked  their  footsteps  carefully,  until 
they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  corn-path.    Here  they  halted. 

"How  are  we  to  get  across,  Cyril?"  asked  the  girl, 
shivering. 

Lister  groped  in  the  corn  wherein  Durgo  had  flung 
the  planks,  and  soon  recovered  these.  With  the  aid  of 
Bella  he  fixed  them  again  on  the  tressels  sunk  in  the  mud, 
and  the  two  passed  dry-shod  over  the  channel.  In  walking 
to  Marshely  the  young  man  gave  Bella  the  bag.  "Take 
this,  dear,"  he  said.  "The  jewels  are  in  it.  Be  careful 
of  them." 

"Oh,  Cyril,"  said  the  girl,  awestruck,  "did  Mrs.  Vand 
steal  them?" 

"Yes,  and  in  spite  of  what  she  says  I  believe  she  and 
Henry  murdered  your  father — I  mean  Captain  Huxham — 
for  the  sake  of  the  jewels.  They  were  in  this  bag,  marked 
with  the  initials  'M.  F.' — your  father's  initials." 

"  Just  as  Granny  saw  it  in  her  trance." 

"Very  nearly,  only  she  called  the  bag — and  it  is  a  bag, 
as  you  see — a  portmanteau.  Either  Granny  or  the  un- 
seen are  at  fault.  But  it  matters  little  since  the  jewels 
are  now  in  your  possession.     Keep  them  carefully." 

"But  Cyril,"  said  Bella,  as  they  drew  near  the  cottage, 
"  does  it  seem  right  for  us  to  keep  jewels  that  already  have 
caused  two  murders?  My  father  was  killed  because  of 
these  gems  by  Captain  Huxham,  and  he  met  with  the  same 
fate  for  probably  the  same  reason." 

"  I  daresay  in  ages  past,  many  and  many  a  wicked  deed 
has  been  committed  for  the  sake  of  these  jewels.  Do  you 
remember  what  you  heard  Granny  say  in  her  trance? — 
that  a  Roman  empress  had  secured  the  jewels  by  crime. 
My  dear  girl,  all  jewels  have  a  history  more  or  less,  and  if 
one  feared  the  sort  of  thing  you  mention,  not  a  woman 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  281 

would  wear  jewels.  No,  dear:  God  has  given  you  this 
fortune,  and  you  have  every  right  to  make  use  of  it.  Here's 
the  door,  and  by  the  light  in  the  window  I  see  that  Miss 
Ankers  is  sitting  up." 

"I  promised  to  tell  her  why  I  went  out,"  said  Bella, 
kissing  her  lover,  "  so,  as  she  is  our  good  friend;  she  must 
know  all." 

"Just  as  you  please:  tell  her  everything  from  the  begin- 
ning.   I  have  to  tell  Inspector  Inglis  what  I  know  shortly." 

"Will  you  tell  ham  about  your  father?"  asked  Bella 
faintly. 

Lister  hesitatied.  "I  must,"  he  said  at  length  with  a 
mighty  effort,  "  for  if  I  do  not  Luke  Tunks  may  be  caught, 
and  he  will  tell." 

"Tell  what?" 

"I  don't  know:  God  only  knows  what  happened  when 
Luke  peeped  through  that  window.  From  the  pres- 
ence of  the  bloody  knife  on  the  floor,  and  the  fact  that 
Vand  murdered  Huxham,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that 
Huxham  stabbed  my  father  with  that  knife." 

Bella  caught  his  sleeve.  "If  so  where  did  Captain, 
Huxham  hide  the  body?" 

Cyril  removed  her  arm  gently,  although  he  shivered. 
"  We  have  had  enough  of  these  horrors  for  one  night,  dear," 
he  said,  kissing  her.  "  Go  inside  and  talk  to  Miss  Ankers. 
To-morrow  I'll  come  and  see  you." 

"What  are  you  about  to  do,  Cyril?" 

"  I  am  returning  to  the  Manor-house,  and  then  shall  go 
to  Granny's  hut  with  Inglis.  There  must  be  an  end  to 
all  this  mystery  to-night.  Bella" — he  turned  suddenly — 
"  if  it  is  proved  that  my  father  is  alive,  will  you  still  marry 
me?    Think  of  the  disgrace  he  has  brought  on  me." 

"  Why  ?  In  any  case  your  father  didn't  murder  Captain 
Huxham." 

"No;  his  hands  are  free  from  blood  in  that  respect. 
But  this  case  will  have  to  be  thoroughly  inquired  into, 
and  much  about  my  father  may  come  out.  His  doings 
were  shady.     As  I  told  you,  I  had  to  borrow  one  thousand 


282  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

pounds  to  buy  back  a  cheque  for  that  amount  which  he 
had  forged  in  the  name  of  an  old  college  friend.  Then 
there's  the  gun-running  in  Nigeria,  and  all  manner  of 
doubtful  means  by  which  he  made  his  money.  Bella,  if 
you  marry  me,  you  marry  a  man  with  a  soiled  name." 

Her  arms  were  round  him  on  the  instant.  "  You  have 
not  soiled  it,"  she  whispered,  "  and  that  is  enough  for  me." 

Cyril's  lips  met  hers  in  a  passionate  kiss,  and,  glowing 
with  happiness,  she  ran  into  Dora's  little  garden  as  the 
door  opened.  Miss  Ankers,  hearing  voices  at  this 
late  hour — for  it  was  nearly  midnight — was  looking  out 
to  see  what  was  the  matter.  Cyril  watched  her  admit 
Bella,  and  then  turned  away  with  a  sigh.  He  intended  to 
confess  much  about  his  father  to  Inglis,  which  he  would 
much  rather  have  kept  concealed;  but  under  the  circum- 
stances there  was  no  other  way  of  settling  matters.  Since 
the  tragic  death  of  Captain  Huxham,  these  had  been  in  a 
very  bad  way. 

Very  shortly  the  young  man  arrived  at  the  Manor-house, 
and  found  a  constable  on  guard  at  the  door.  But  he 
was  admitted  the  moment  the  man  recognised  him.  It 
appeared  that  Inglis  had  been  expecting  him  for  some 
time.  Lister  walked  into  the  study,  wherein  the  in- 
spector had  established  himself,  and  explained  that  he 
had  been  escorting  Miss  Huxham  home. 

"The  poor  girl  is  quite  worn  out,"  said  Cyril,  seating 
himself  with  an  air  of  relief,  for  he  also  was  extremely 
tired. 

"No  wonder,"  replied  the  inspector.  "Is  Dutton  on 
guard?" 

"Yes.  Mrs.  Vand  and  the  old  woman  and  the  girl 
are  all  safe." 

"I  have  sent  along  another  man,"  said  Inglis  nodding, 
"so  that  there  may  be  no  chance  of  the  three  escaping. 
The  house  was  locked  up  when  we  came  here,  Mr.  Lister, 
and  only  by  breaking  a  window  could  we  enter.  Look  at 
this,  sir" — and  the  inspector  pointed  to  a  small  lozenge- 
pane  in  the  casement,  which  had  been  broken. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  283 

"Well,"  said  Cyril,  after  a  pause. 

"Through  that  broken  pane  Luke  Tunks  saw  every- 
thing which  took  place  in  this  study  on  the  night  of  the 
murder." 

Cyril  felt  his  hair  rise,  and  he  thought  of  his  father's 
probable  danger,  but  he  calmed  down  on  reflecting  that 
at  least  Edwin  Lister  was  not  guilty  of  the  frightful  crime. 
"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  he  gasped  with  difficulty. 

"  We  have  caught  Luke,  and  he  will  be  here  in  a  moment 
or  so  to  confess." 

Cyril  looked  surprised.     "How  did  you  catch  him?" 

"He  ran  out  of  the  hut  when  we  crossed  the  channel, 
and  concealed  himself  in  the  corn.  Then,  remembering 
that  the  Manor-house  was  deserted  he  fetched  a  circle 
round  the  fields  and  came  here.  When  we  got  into  the 
house  we  found  him  nearly  crazy  with  fear;  he  took  us 
for  ghosts." 

"Where  is  he  now?" 

"In  the  kitchen  guarded  by  a  couple  of  men.  He 
refused  to  confess,  and  I  gave  him  an  hour  to  make  up  his 
mind.  Meanwhile,  we  have  searched  the  house  and  have 
found  that  everything  valuable  more  or  less  is  gone.  Some 
things  left  behind  have  been  packed  in  boxes.  I  suppose 
the  Vands  hoped  to  escape  and  then  get  their  goods  later. 
But  they  carried  off  what  they  could." 

"They  intended  to  go  to  America,"  said  Cyril,  "the 
woman  explained.  She  also  declared  that  her  husband 
murdered  Captain  Huxham." 

"I  expect  she  had  a  hand  in  it  herself." 

"She  denies  that." 

"She  naturally  would,"  said  Inglis  very  drily.  "How- 
ever, I'll  send  for  Luke  Tunks  and  see  if  he  is  willing  to 
confess,"  and  he  gave  a  sharp  order  to  one  of  the  constables 
who  was  lounging  in  the  hall. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  tall,  lean  gipsy,  who  looked  ex- 
tremely ill  and  extremely  defiant,  made  his  appearance  at 
the  door,  held  by  two  policemen. 

"  Bring  him  in,"  said  the  inspector  calmly,  and  arrang- 


284  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

ing  some  sheets  of  paper,  which  he  took  out  of  his  pocket 
along  with  a  stylograph  pen.  "Now  then,  my  man,  will 
you  confess  all  that  you  saw?" 

"If  I  do  what  will  happen,  governor?"  asked  Tunks 
hoarsely. 

"You  may  get  a  lighter  sentence." 

"Will  I  be  arrested?" 

"  You  are  arrested  now,  and  shortly  you  will  be  lodged 
in  gaol." 

"Then  I  shan't  say  anything!"  growled  Luke  defiantly, 
and  folding  his  arms  he  leaned  against  the  panelled  wall. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Inglis  serenely;  "  take  him  away.  In 
the  morning  he  can  be  removed  to  the  Pierside  goal." 

The  two  constables  advanced,  and  Luke  bit  his  lip. 
In  any  case  he  saw  that  things  looked  black  against  him. 

"You  have  no  right  to  arrest  me,"  he  declared.  "On 
what  charge  do  you  arrest  me?" 

"On  a  charge  of  murdering  Captain  Jabez  Huxham." 

"I  didn't.    I  can  prove  I  didn't." 

"You  can  do  so  in  court  and  to  a  judge  and  jury. 
Take  him  away." 

"No,  no!  I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  now,"  said  Luke, 
making  the  best  of  a  bad  job,  and  being  imaginative  enough 
to  both  see  and  feel  a  visionary  rope  encircling  his  neck. 
"Let  me  tell  now,  governor." 

This  was  exactiy  what  Inglis  wanted,  as  he  desired  to 
obtain  all  available  evidence  for  the  forthcoming  inquest 
on  the  bodies  of  the  dead  men,  black  and  white.  But  he 
pretended  to  grant  the  man's  wish  as  a  favour.  "  As  you 
please,"  he  said  with  a  cool  shrug.  "You  two  men  can 
go  outside  and  remain  on  guard  on  the  other  side  of  the 
door." 

The  constables  did  as  they  were  ordered  and  closed  the 
door.  Inglis,  Lister,  and  Luke  Tunks  were  alone,  and  as 
the  gipsy  was  still  weak  from  his  late  illness  the  inspector 
signed  that  he  could  take  a  seat.  "  Now  tell  me  all  you 
know,  and  I  shall  take  it  down.  You  shall  affix  your 
name     to    your    confession,     and    Mr.    Lister      and 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  285 

myself     will     be     the    witnesses.      Do    you    agree?" 

"Yes,"  said  Luke  hoarsely,  and  drawing  his  sleeve 
across  his  mouth,  "for  nothing  I  can  say  can  hang  me. 
I  didn't  kill  either  of  the  blokes." 

"  Either  of  the  blokes  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  that  Captain  Huxham  killed  the  man  who 
called  himself  Lister,  and  Henry  Vand  killed  Captain 
Huxham.    I  saw  both  murders." 

Lister  rejoiced,  horrified  as  he  was  at  the  idea  of  his 
father's  violent  death,  but  thankful  from  the  bottom  of 
his  heart  that  he  had  gone  to  his  own  place  guiltless  of 
blood.  Inglis  saw  the  expression  on  the  young  man's 
face,  and  asked  a  leading  question. 

"Was  not  this  Mr.  Lister  your  father?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Cyril  promptly.  "He  came  home 
from  Nigeria  some  months  ago  with  Durgo,  who  is  the 
son  of  a  friendly  chief.  My  father,  I  understand,  came 
down  here  to  ask  Captain  Huxham  for  certain  jewels — " 

"Those  you  showed  me,  sir?" 

"Yes,  they  were  robbed  from  a  trader  called  Maxwell 
Faith  by  Huxham,  and  my  father  wished  to  get  them. 
Durgo  came  down  to  seek  for  my  father,  but  we  have  never 
been  able  to  find  him." 

"He  is  dead,"  said  Luke  abruptly. 

"  So  you  say;  but  where  is  the  body  ?" 

"  I  don't  know;  I  can't  say."  Luke  paused,  then  turned 
tojthe  inspector.  "Let  me  tell  you  what  I  saw  through 
yonder  broken  pane." 

"Very  good."  Inglis  arranged  his  papers  and  prepared 
his  pen.  "Mind  you  speak  the  truth,  as  I  shall  take 
down  every  word  you  say.  Afterwards  Mr.  Lister  can 
tell  me  what  he  knows." 

So  it  was  arranged,  and  Tunks,  as  ready  to  tell  now  as 
formerly  he  was  unwilling,  launched  out  into  his  story. 
It  appears  that  after  leaving  Mrs.  Coppersley — as  she 
was  then — he  went  home  to  have  some  food.  Shortly 
before  eight  o'clock  he  strolled  along  the  banks  of  the 
river  and  saw  Pence  watching  the  house.    Knowing  that 


286  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

the  preacher  was  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  his  master, 
he  took  little  notice;  then,  while  lying  in  the  corn  by  the 
side  of  the  path  smoking,  he  saw,  as  he  thought,  Cyril 
Lister  pass  him,  and  stealthily  followed. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  asked  Inglis,  raising  his  eyes. 

"I  knew  that  this  gent" — he  nodded  towards  Cyril — 
"  was  in  love  with  Miss  Bella  also,  and  knew  that  Captain 
Huxham  hated  him." 

"Why  did  he  hate  him?" 

"I  can  tell  you,"  said  Cyril  quickly;  "because  of  my 
father.  Huxham  knew  my  father  in  Nigeria,  and  as  my 
father  wished  to  get  these  jewels  he  feared  lest  he  should 
force  him  to  give  them  up.  For  this  reason  Huxham 
came  down  here  and  planted  corn  all  round  his  house  as 
a  means  of  defence,  and  installed  a  search-light.  He 
wished  to  be  on  his  guard." 

"  Did  your  father  intend  murder?"  asked  the  inspector, 
sharply. 

"I  really  can't  say." 

"  But  he  did,"  struck  in  Luke,  who  had  been  listening 
earnestly.  "  All  that  the  young  gent  says  is  true,  sir.  I 
only  followed,  as  I  thought  that  there  would  be  a  row 
between  Captain  Huxham  and — as  I  thought — Mr.  Cyril. 
I  waited  outside  the  house,  and  then  hearing  loud  voices 
in  the  study — in  this  place,"  said  Tunks  looking  round, 
"  I  stole  to  the  casement  and  peeped  through  that  broken 
pane.    They  did  not  know  that  I  was  there." 

"What  became  of  Mr.  Pence  meanwhile?"  asked 
Inglis  suddenly. 

"He  was  watching  the  house,  but  I  think  he  went  away 
and  then  came  back." 

Inglis  nodded.  "That  is  unsatisfactory.  I  must 
examine  Mr.  Pence  later.  You  go  on,  Tunks,  and  tell 
us  exactly  what  you  saw." 

Tunks  settled  down  to  his  narrative.  "I  listened  and 
heard  all  about  the  jewels  and  the  death  of  Maxwell 
Faith  and  all  about  Miss  Bella  being  his  daughter.  1  saw 
by  this  time  that  Mr.  Lister  was  not  Mr.  Cyril  here,  and 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  287 

I  guessed  from  his  likeness  that  he  was  Mr.  Cyril's  father. 
Mr.  Lister  wanted  Captain  Huxham  to  give  up  the  jewels 
for  some  expedition,  but  the  captain  refused.  They 
began  to  quarrel,  and  then  the  captain  pulled  out  a  big 
knife  from  a  drawer  of  his  desk  and  rushed  on  Mr.  Lister. 
There  was  a  struggle  and  Mr.  Lister  tried  to  pull  out  a 
revolver.  At  length  Huxham  got  Mr.  Lister  down  and 
cut  his  throat." 

"Which  would  account  for  the  quantity  of  blood  found 
on  the  floor  here  when  Huxham's  body  was  found.  I 
thought  there  was  too  much  blood  for  one  man's  corpse 
to  supply.    Go  on." 

'"Oh,  it's  terrible — horrible!"  said  Cyril,  covering  his 
tace.  "What  did  you  do,  Tunks?  Why  didn't  you 
give  the  alarm?" 

"What,  and  be  run  in  for  being  an  accomplice!"  said 
Tunks  disdainfully,  "not  me.  But  I  was  frightened, 
and  when  I  saw  that  Captain  Huxham  had  killed  Mr. 
Lister — I  knew  his  name  by  that  time,  having  heard  them 
talking — why,  I  ran  away  as  hard  as  my  legs  could  carry 


me." 


"Where  did  you  go?" 

"Home  to  Granny,  so  that  I  might  be  able  to  supply 
an  alibi  if  necessary.  I  didn't  tell  her  anything,  but  she 
found  out  a  lot  when  I  was  raving  with  the  drink  in  me. 
But  I  couldn't  rest,  and  when  Granny  was  a-bed  I  stole 
out.  It  was  after  ten  by  this  time.  I  went  up  to  the 
Manor  and  to  yonder  window.  Then  I  saw  Mrs.  Coppers- 
ley — as  she  was — and  Mr.  Vand,  talking  to  the  captain  and 
telling  him  they  were  married.  The  knife,  all  bloody, 
was  on  the  floor  near  the  door,  but  they  were  all  three  so 
busy  talking  that  they  did  not  notice  it.  But  I  wonder 
the  captain  didn't  cover  it  up.' 

"Where  was  the  body  of  my  father?"  asked  Cyril 
impatiently. 

"I  don't  know;  the  body  was  gone.  I've  never  been 
able  to  find  out  where  the  captain  put  up  the  body.  But, 
as  I  say,  he  turned  out  Mr.  Vand  and  his  wife,  as  I  knew 


288  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

she  was  then,  and  cursed  up  and  down.  But  he  didn't 
pick  up  the  knife;  in  place  of  doing  so,  which  would  have 
been  more  sensible,  seeing  that  he  had  murdered  the  Lister 
cove  with  it,  he  went  to  his  desk  and  pulled  out  a  black 
bag.    He  emptied  this  of  jewels,  and  my  mouth  watered." 

"  Ah,  so  you  recognised  the  bag  when  you  tried  to  steal 
it  from  Mrs.  Vand  in  your  mother's  cottage?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Luke  sullenly,  "and  very  sorry  I 
am  that  I  didn't  get  clear  off  with  it." 

"You  have  quite  enough  to  answer  for  as  it  is,"  said 
Inglis  sharply.  "Go  on,  as  I  have  got  everything  down 
so  far." 

"Well,  then  while  the  captain  was  stiting  at  the  desk 
gloating  over  the  jewels  Mr.  Vand  comes  in  softly  like  a 
cat.  He  saw  the  jewels  and  his  eyes  lighted  up.  Captain 
Huxham,  being  busy,  didn't  hear  him,  so  he  picks  up  the 
knife  lying  near  the  door,  and  before  I  could  cry  out  he 
rushed  at  the  old  man.  Huxham  turned  to  meet  him, 
and  got  the  knife  in  his  heart.  Then  Mr.  Vand,  as  cool 
as  you  please,  dropped  the  knife  behind  the  desk,  and 
taking  the  bag  with  the  jewels,  he  put  'em  back — went 
away." 

"What  did  you  do?" 

"I  went  home  and  tried  to  sleep,  but  couldn't." 

"Why  didn't  you  warn  the  police?"  asked  Inglis. 

"No,  sir.  I'm  only  a  gipsy,  and  they'd  have  thought 
I'd  something  to  do  with  the  business.  If  I'd  accused 
Mr.  Vand  him  and  his  wife  would  have  accused  me,  and 
it  would  be  two  to  one.  Besides,"  said  Luke  coolly, 
"I  wasn't  sorry  to  see  old  Huxham  downed  after  killing 
the  other  gent.    Serve  him  right,  say  I.    So  that's  all." 

"Humph,"  said  Inglis,  finishing  his  writing.  "You 
made  capital  out  of  this?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  Luke  defiantly,  and  taking  the  pen 
which  Inglis  held  out  to  him.  "I  told  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Vand  what  I'd  seen.  They  were  frightened — it  was  the 
next  morning,  you  see — and  paid  me  heaps  of  money  to 
hold  my  tongue.    Then,  like  a  fool,  I  went  on  the  bend, 


ETHE  SOLITARY  FARM  289 

and  talked  so  much  that  Granny  got  to  know  heaps,  and 
so  set  the  nigger  brute  on  our  tracks.  There" — Luke 
signed  his  name — "you  can't  hang  me  for  what  I've  told 
you." 

Inglis  and  Lister  both  signed  as  witnesses,  and  the 
inspector  put  the  paper  into  his  pocket.  He  was  about 
to  ask  further  questions — to  cross-examine  Tunks  in  fact — 
when  the  door  opened  and  a  young  constable  appeared 
in  a  mighty  state  of  excitement. 

"Sir,"  he  cried  to  his  superior  officer,  "Mrs.  Vand  has 
escaped!" 

"Escaped!"  cried  the  inspector;  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"Yes;  sir.  Dutton  is  lying  drugged  in  the  hut,  and 
the  old  woman  has  been  stunned.  Mrs.  Vand  and  the 
gipsy  girl  are  gone." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  REMARKABLE  DISCOVERY 

Next  morning  there  was  a  great  sensation  in  the  village 
of  Marshely,  as  in  some  way  the  events  of  the  previous 
night  leaked  out.  Certainly,  the  accounts  of  these  were 
more  or  less  garbled,  and  no  one  appeared  to  know  who 
was  responsible  for  them.  But  this  much  of  the  truth 
became  public  property,  that  Vand  and  the  negro  prince 
who  had  been  stopping  at  "The  Chequers"  were  dead, 
that  Mrs.  Vand  had  fled  to  escape  arrest,  and  that  the 
police  were  in  possession  of  Bleacres.  Later  in  the  after- 
noon it  became  known  that  Vand  had  killed  Captain 
Huxham  for  the  sake  of  certain  jewels. 

But  the  villagers  were  greatly  astonished  when  they 
heard — from  what  source  was  not  known — that  another 
man  had  been  killed.  No  one,  save  Silas  Pence,  had  seen 
Edwin  Lister  enter  the  Manor,  and  Pence  himself  had 
presumed,  until  informed,  that  the  man  was  Cyril,  so 
no  one  knew  that  any  person  was  missing.  Now  it  ap- 
peared that  the  man  who  was  murdered  by  Vand  had 
committed  a  crime  himself  previous  to  his  own  death. 
But  what  he  had  done  with  the  body  no  one  knew,  and 
the  police  could  find  no  traces  of  the  same  in  spite  of  all 
their  efforts. 

Inspector  Inglis  called  at  Miss  Anker's  cottage  in  the 
morning  and  interviewed  both  Bella  and  her  lover.  From 
them  he  heard  the  whole  tale,  and  was  greatly  astonished 
by  the  recital.  Under  the  circumstances  he  was  inclined 
to  take  the  jewels  into  official  custody,  but  Bella  refused 
to  give  them  up;  and  undoubtedly  they  were  her 
property   left   to   her   by   her    father,   Maxwell     Faith. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  291 

Inglis    admitted   this,  so    did  not   press     the    point. 

Afterwards  the  inspector  examined  Silas  Pence,  and 
heard  from  him  much  the  same  story  as  he  had  told 
Bella.  The  preacher  was  lying  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  as 
the  blow  on  his  head  and  the  many  worries  he  had  been 
through  of  late  nearly  gave  him  brain  fever.  Of  course 
— and  Inglis  told  him  as  much — he  should  have  reported 
at  once  the  death  of  Huxham,  as  he  had  seen  the  body. 
But  as  Pence  had  not  beheld  the  blow  struck,  the  police 
could  do  nothing  but  admonish.  Silas  stated  that  in  one 
point  of  his  story  when  he  confessed  to  Bella  he 
had  been  wrong,  which  was  after  seeing  Edwin  Lister  enter 
the  Manor — or,  as  he  thought  then,  Cyril — he  had  rushed 
away  in  the  direction  of  the  common  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  rid  himself  of  troublesome  thoughts.  When  he  returned 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Vand  were  in  the  kitchen,  as  Luke  proved; 
and  Pence  was  thus  enabled  to  enter  the  house.  Un- 
doubtedly the  guilty  pair  had  left  the  front  door  open, 
so  that  blame  might  be  cast  upon  some  outsider — on  a 
possible  burglar,  for  instance.  When  they  heard  the 
noise  of  Pence's  flight  and  found  the  money  gone,  they 
were  quite  determined  to  place  the  blame  on  a  robber. 
Mrs.  Vand  confessed  this  later,  although  at  the  time  of 
the  robbery  she  had  not  dreamed  the  burglar  was  the 
talented  young  preacher  whom  she  so  greatly  admired. 

But  the  guilty  woman  was  missing  for  some  days.  On 
inquiry  being  made  it  appeared  that  the  Romany  girl, 
bribed  by  Mrs.  Vand  to  assist  her  flight,  had  made  a  cup 
of  tea  for  the  constable.  As  Dutton  was  wet  and  cold, 
he  drank  the  tea  only  too  willingly,  never  suspecting  that 
it  was  drugged.  But  it  turned  out  to  be  dosed  with  laud- 
anum, and  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep.  Granny  Tunks,  as 
she  stated  on  reviving,  had  attempted  to  stay  the  flight  of 
Mrs.  Vand  and  the  Romany  girl,  but  the  latter  had  prompt- 
ly knocked  her  down  with  the  very  chunk  of  wood  with 
which  Mrs.  Tunks  had  struck  the  half-drowned  woman. 
In  this  way  Granny's  sins  came  home  to  her. 

Inglis  found,  on  the  detail  of  the  motor-car  being  re- 


292  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

ported  by  Cyril,  who  had  heard  it  from  Mrs.  Vand,  that 
use  had  been  made  of  the  same.  He  advertised  for  such 
a  car  in  such  a  neighbourhood,  and  speedily  was  called 
upon  by  a  public  chauffeur,  who  drove  for  hire.  The 
man  confessed  very  frankly  that  Vand  had  engaged  his 
car  to  wait  for  himself  and  his  wife  on  the  high  road  to 
Pierside,  and  that  thinking  that  nothing  was  wrong  he 
had  done  so.  Vand  had  paid  him  well,  and  the  driver 
merely  thought  it  was  the  eccentric  whim  of  a  rich  man. 
Vand,  it  appeared,  had  engaged  the  car  in  London  from 
the  stand  in  Trafalgar  Square.  When  Mrs.  Vand  left 
the  hut  the  Romany  girl  had  rowed  her  to  the  swamps  in 
the  boat  she  had  brought  for  the  removal  of  Luke  to  the 
caravan,  and  the  woman  had  then  crossed  the  marshy 
ground  to  the  high  road.  Making  some  excuse  for  the 
non-appearance  of  her  husband,  she  had  been  driven  to 
London,  and  the  driver,  who  had  already  received  his 
money,  dropped  her  in  Piccadilly.  That,  as  he  con- 
fessed, was  the  last  he  saw  of  her. 

Inspector  Inglis  was  very  angry  with  the  man,  and 
pointed  out  that  he  should  have  suspected  that  the  couple 
were  flying  from  justice  from  the  fact  of  the  large  sum  of 
money  paid,  and  on  account  of  the  strange  place  where 
it  was  arranged  that  the  car  should  wait.  But  the  man 
exonerated  himself  completely,  and  in  the  end  he  was 
permitted  to  go  free,  as  the  police  could  not  do  anything. 
And  after  all  the  chauffeur,  who  did  not  look  particularly 
intelligent,  might  have  acted  in  all  good  faith. 

However  the  point  was  that  Mrs.  Vand,  dropped  in 
Piccadilly,  had  vanished  entirely.  She  had  ample  money, 
as  it  was  proved  that  she  had  drawn  fifty  pounds  in  gold 
from  her  bank,  and  although  she  had  fled  from  the  hut 
with  only  the  dripping  dress  she  wore,  there  would  be  no 
difficulty  in  her  obtaining  a  fresh  disguise.  The  police 
advertised  in  the  papers  and  with  handbills,  but  nothing 
could  be  heard  of  the  woman.  She  had  vanished  as 
completely  as  though  the  earth  had  opened  and  swallowed 
her. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  293 

Strangely  enough,  it  was  from  Mrs.  Vand's  solicitor 
that  the  first  news  came  of  her  doings.  Timson  was  the 
lawyer's  name,  and  he  came  down  to  Pierside  to  see 
Inspector  Inglis.  On  being  shown  into  the  inspector's 
office  he  broke  out  abruptly — 

"  Sir,"  said  Timson,  who  was  a  mild-faced,  spectacled, 
yellow-haired  man,  "I  have  a  communication  to  make  to 
you  about  my  respected  client,  Mrs.  Rosamund  Vand,  if 
you  will  hear  it." 

"Respectable,  eh?"  questioned  the  officer  ironically. 
"Perhaps  you  don't  know,  Mr. — Mr." — he  referred  to 
the  card — "Mr.  Timson,  that  your  respectable  client  is 
wanted  for  her  complicity  in  the  murder  of  her  brother?" 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Timson  again  and  firmly,  "my  client — 
my  respected  client,"  he  added  with  emphasis  "assured 
me  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  commission  of 
that  crime.  She  was  in  a  dead  faint  in  the  kitchen  when 
her  husband,  in  a  moment  of  passion,  struck  down  Captain 
Huxham." 

"  So  she  says  because  it  is  to  her  benefit  to  say  so,  Mr. 
Timson.  But  the  man  who  saw  the  murder  committed 
swears  that  it  was  a  most  deliberate  affair,  and  was  only 
done  for  the  sake  of  certain  jewels,  which " 

"Deliberate  or  not,  Mr.  Inspector,"  interrupted  the 
meek  little  man,  "  my  respected  client  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  Afterwards  she  held  her  tongue  for  the  sake  of 
her  husband,  for  his  sake  also  paid  blackmail  to  the  man 
who  saw  the  crime  committed." 

"We  can  argue  that  point,"  said  Inglis  drily,  "when 
we  see  Mrs.  Vand.  You  are  doubtless  aware  of  her 
whereabouts?" 

"No,"  said  Timson  coolly,  "I  am  not." 

"But  you  said  you  had  seen  her — after  the  murder 
was  committed,  I  fancy  you  hinted." 

"I  saw  her,"  said  Timson,  quite  calmly*  "on  the  day 
following  her  flight  from  the  hut  on  the  marshes.  She 
alighted  in  Piccadilly  and  walked  about  the  streets  for 
the  rest  of  the  night.    Afterwards  she  went  to  a  quiet  hotel 


294  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

and  had  a  brush  and  a  wash  up.    She  then  called  on  me — " 

"And  you  did  not  detain  her  when  you  knew " 

"  I  knew  nothing.  Had  I  known  that  she  was  flying  from 
justice  I  certainly  should  have  urged  her  to  surrender. 
But  the  news  of  these  terrible  doings  in  Marshely  had  not 
reached  London;  it  was  not  in  the  papers  until  the  follow- 
ing day.    You  grant  that?" 

"Yes,  yes!    But " 

"No  'buts'  at  all,  Mr.  Inspector,"  said  Timson, 
who  seemed  firm  enough  in  spite  of  his  meek  aspect. 
"My  client  confessed  to  me  that  her  husband  had  been 
drowned,  and  that  he  had  murdered  her  brother  in  a  fit 
of  passion  because  Captain  Huxham  intended  to  turn  his 
sister  out  of  doors  and  alter  his  will  on  account  of  her 
secret  marriage." 

"That  motive  may  have  had  some  weight,"  said  Inglis 
quietly,  "but  I  fancy  the  sight  of  the  jewels  made  Vand 
murder  his  brother-in-law.  Did  Mrs.  Vand  call  to  tell 
you  this?" 

"No!"  snapped  Timson,  whose  meekness  was  giving 
way.     "She  called  to  make  her  will." 

"Make  her  will — in  whose  favour?" 

"I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  tell  you,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "although  I  never  reveal  professional  secrets. 
But  I  will  tell,  so  that  you  may  see  how  you  have  mis- 
judged my  client.  She  made  a  will  in  favour  of  Miss 
Isabella  Faith " 

"Faith?  Ah!  she  knew,  then,  that  the  girl  was  not 
her  niece." 

"Yes.  But  she  did  not  tell  me  that,  nor  did  I  in- 
quire. All  she  did  was  to  make  me,  or,  rather  instruct 
me,  to  draw  up  a  will  leaving  the  Bleacres  property  and 
the  five  hundred  a  year  she  inherited  from  the  late  Cap- 
tain Huxham,  to  Miss  Faith,  as  some  token  of  repentance 
for  having  misjudged  her.  And  now,"  cried  Timson, 
rising  wrathfully,  "my  respected  client  is  misjudged  her- 
self.    I  come  to  clear  her  character." 

"I  don't  see  how  that  will  clears  her  character,"  said 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  295 

Inglis  coolly,  "  and  from  the  mere  fact  that  she  made  it  I 
daresay  she  has  committed  suicide." 

"Impossible!    Impossible!" 

"I  think  it  is  very  probable,  indeed,  Mr.  Timson,  Mrs. 
Vand  cannot  get  out  of  England,  as  all  the  ports  and  rail- 
way stations  are  watched,  and  there  is  a  full  description 
of  her  appearance  posted  everywhere.  Unless  she  wants 
to  get  a  long  sentence  for  complicity  in  this  most  brutal 
murder,  she  will  have  to  commit  suicide." 

"I  tell  you  she  is  innocent." 

"Can  you  tell  me  that  she  is  not  an  accomplice  after 
the  fact?" 

"  A  wife  is  not  bound  to  give  evidence  against  her  hus- 
band." 

Inspector  Inglis  rose  with  a  fatigued  air.  "I  am  not 
here  to  argue  on  points  of  law  with  you,  Mr.  Timson. 
All  I  ask  is,  if  you  know  where  your  respected  client  is?" 
he  laid  a  sneering  emphasis  on  his  last  words. 

"No,  I  do  not,"  said  Timson,  taking  up  his  hat,  "and 
I  bid  you  good  day." 

What  the  lawyer  said  was  evidently  correct,  for  although 
his  office  and  himself  were  watched  by  the  police,  it  could 
not  be  proved  that  he  was  in  communication  with  the 
missing  woman.  The  whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Vand  be- 
came more  of  a  mystery  than  ever.  Inglis  told  Bella  of 
her  good  fortune,  but  of  course  until  Mrs.  Vand  was  dead 
she  could  not  benefit.  And  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance 
of  proving  the  woman's  death,  even  though  the  inspector 
firmly  held  to  the  opinion  that  she  had  committed 
suicide. 

Meantime  Timson  went  on  to  Marshely  to  look  after 
his  client's  property,  and  seeing  that  the  corn  was  ripe, 
he  arranged  with  a  number  of  labourers,  under  an  over- 
seer whom  he  could  trust,  that  it  should  be  reaped  im- 
mediately. Thus  it  happened  that  four  days  after  Mrs. 
Vand's  disappearance,  when  Cyril  came  to  tell  Bella 
about  the  inquest,  she  was  able  to  inform  him  that  the 
Solitary  Farm  lands  were  about  to  be  reaped. 


296  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"And  we  might  go  there  in  the  evening  to  look,"  said 
Bella. 

"My  dear,  I  should  think  that  the  Manor  was  hateful 
to  you." 

"Well,  it  is.  Even  if  I  do  inherit  it  from  Mrs.  Vand,  I 
can  never  live  there,  Cyril.  But  I  want  you  to  come 
with  me  this  evening,  as  I  have  a  kind  of  idea  that  the  body 
of  Mrs.  Vand" — she  grew  pale  and  shuddered — "may 
be  found  amidst  the  corn." 

Cyril  started  back,  astonished.  "My  dear  girl,  you 
must  be  mad!" 

"No,  I  am  not,  Cyril.  Think  of  how  she  is  being 
hunted,  and  how  her  person  is  described  everywhere, 
while  all  the  ports  and  stations  are  watched.  I  believe 
that  she,  poor  woman!  went  to  see  her  lawyer,  so  as  to 
prove  her  sorrow  for  having  misjudged  me,  by  making  me 
her  heiress,  and  that  she  then  returned  to  die  amidst  the 
corn." 

"Do  you  think  she  is  dead  there?" 

"Perhaps  yes,  perhaps  no.  Granny  Tunks  is  still  in 
the  hut,  and  she  is  very  avaricious.  Mrs.  Vand  had 
money.  She  may  have  bribed  Granny  to  bring  her  food 
while  she  lay  hid  among  the  corn." 

"But  such  a  hiding-place!"  said  Lister,  who  never- 
theless was  much  struck  with  what  Bella  was  saying. 

"A  very  good  one  and  a  place  where  no  one  would 
think  of  looking.  Think  how  thick  the  corn  is  growing! 
No  one  ever  enters  it,  and  that  scarlet  coated  scarecrow 
stands  sentinel  over  it.  Believe  me,  Cyril,  Mrs.  Vand 
has  been  hiding  there.  I  wish  you  to  come  with  me  this 
evening.  They  have  started  to  reap  the  corn  by  order 
of  Mr.  Timson.  If  Mrs.  Vand  is  there,  she  will  in  the 
end  be  discovered.  Let  us  find  her,  and  save  her,  and 
get  her  out  of  the  kingdom." 

"That  will  bring  us  within  reach  of  the  law." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Bella,  quite  recklessly;  "after  all, 
she  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  crime,  and  only  kept 
silent    to    shield    her    husband.     I    want    to    help    the 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  297 

poor     thing,    and  you     must    aid     me     to    do     so." 

"But  Bella,  she  never  liked  you." 

"  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  cried  the  girl  pas- 
sionately. "Our  natures  did  not  suit  one  another,  and 
perhaps  I  behaved  rather  harshly  towards  her.  She 
meant  well.  And  remember,  Cyril,  she  has  made  amends 
by  leaving  me  all  that  would  have  been  mine  had  I  really 
been  Captain  Huxham's  daughter." 

Cyril  nodded.  "I  admit  that  she  has  done  her  best  to 
repent,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "and  we  should  not  judge 
her  too  harshly.    I'll  come." 

"And  help  her  to  escape?" 

"Yes.     It  won't  be  easy;  but  I'll  do  my  best." 

"That's  my  own  dear  boy,"  said  the  girl,  kissing  him, 
"and  now  what  about  the  inquest?" 

"A  verdict  of  death  by  drowning  has  been  brought  in," 
said  Cyril  quickly.  "I  think  if  we  can  get  Mrs.  Vand 
away,  everything  concerning  the  Huxham  mystery  will  be 
at  an  end." 

"They  won't  put  the  whole  story  in  the  papers,  Cyril?" 

"No.  Inglis  will  edit  all  that  is  to  be  given  to  the 
reporters  and  journalists.  He  will  say  as  little  as  pos- 
sible about  the  matter.  It  is  known  that  Huxham  was 
murdered  by  Vand,  and  in  the  absence  of  my  father's 
body  no  cognisance  can  be  taken  of  that  alleged  murder." 

"Don't  you  believe  that  your  father  has  been  mur- 
dered?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  can't  tell.  Tunks  says  so,  and  I 
don't  suppose  he  would  tell  such  a  story  against  himself 
unless  it  were  true.  But  no  body  has  been  found,  and 
until  the  body  of  the  missing  man  is  found,  it  is  presumed 
in  law  that  he  is  alive.  But" — Cyril  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders— "who  can  tell  the  truth?" 

"It  will  be  made  manifest  in  time,"  said  Bella  firmly; 
"your  father,  or  your  father's  body,  will  be  found.  Where 
are  Durgo  and  Henry  to  be  buried?" 

"In  Marshely  churchyard  to-morrow.  I  shall  go  to 
the  funeral.     I  am  sorry  for  Durgo.      In  spite  of  his  skin 


298  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

he  was  a  real  white  man.  And  when  he  is  under  the  earth, 
Bella,  I  think  we  had  better  sell  the  jewels  and  marry, 
and  take  a  trip  round  the  world  in  order  to  forget  all  this 
terrible  business.    I  am  quite  glad  it  is  over." 

"It  is  not  over  yet,"  insisted  Bella,  "your  father  has 
to  be  found,  and  Mrs.  Vand  must  be  discovered.'' 

"Or  their  bodies,"  said  Cyril  significantly,  and  turned 
away. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  young  Lister  was  callous. 
His  father  had  never  been  one  to  him,  and,  moreover,  his 
son  had  seen  so  little  of  him,  that  he  was  as  strange  to 
the  young  man  as  he  had  been  to  the  boy.  Cyril  deeply 
regretted  the  gulf  that  was  between  them,  as  he  was  of  a 
truly  affectionate  nature,  but  his  father  always  had  re- 
pelled the  least  sign  of  tenderness.  He  only  looked  on 
Cyril  as  one  to  be  made  use  of,  and  borrowed  from  him  on 
every  occasion.  Had  he  succeeded  in  getting  the  jewels 
and  had  aided  Durgo  to  regain  his  chiefdom,  he  would 
have  remained  in  Nigeria  as  a  kind  of  savage  prime 
minister,  without  casting  a  thought  to  his  son.  And 
whether  his  father  was  dead  or  alive,  Cyril  knew  that  he 
would  have  to  repay  the  one  thousand  pounds  which  he  had 
borrowed  to  cover  his  father's  delinquency  in  respect  of 
the  forged  cheque.  How  could  such  a  son  as  Cyril  Lister 
respect  or  love  such  a  parent  as  Edwin  of  the  same  name  ? 

Nevertheless,  Cyril,  although  he  said  little  to  Bella, 
was  very  anxious  to  ascertain  the  fate  of  his  father.  It 
seemed  very  certain  that  Tunks  had  seen  him  murdered 
by  the  evil-hearted  old  sailor,  but  what  that  scoundrel 
had  done  with  the  body  could  not  be  discovered.  In 
vain  the  police  dug  in  the  cellars  of  the  Manor-house, 
tapped  the  walls,  ripped  up  the  floors,  and  dragged  the 
boundary  channel.  The  body  of  Edwin  Lister  could  not  be 
found,  and  as  no  one  had  seen  him  save  Tunks,  and  Pence, 
and  Bella,  who  had  all  mistaken  him  for  Cyril,  the  police 
began  to  believe  that  Edwin,  the  father,  was  a  myth. 
And  Cyril  could  not  make  Inglis  see  otherwise  for  all  his 
urging  and  confession. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  299 

"If  the  man  is  alive,  why  doesn't  he  turn  up?"  asked 
Inglis;  "and  if  dead,  why  can't  we  find  his  body?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  this,  and  Cyril  gave  up  his 
father's  fate  as  a  riddle,  when  he  walked  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening  towards  the  Solitary  Farm.  The  immediate 
object  of  his  visit  was  to  find  if  Mrs  Vand,  dead  or  alive, 
was  concealed  in  the  thickly  standing  corn.  Bella  strolled 
by  his  side.  But  the  lovers  had  taken  no  one  into  this 
particular  confidence,  not  even  Dora,  and  walked  towards 
the  well-known  house,  and  up  the  corn-path,  anxiously 
looking  right  and  left.  Then  Cyril  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  annoyance.  "What  a  bother!"  he  said,  much 
vexed:  "see,  Bella,  there  are  labourers  still  reaping — 
yonder,  near  the  scarecrow." 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Timson  wants  the  fields  reaped  quickly," 
said  Bella,  also  much  vexed.  "  I  thought  everyone  would 
have  been  gone  by  this  time.  We  must  wait  until  the  labour- 
ers depart,  Cyril.  It  will  never  do  to  find  Mrs.  Vand  while 
they  are  about.  They  would  tell  the  police,  and  she 
would  be  arrested.    That  would  be  dangerous!" 

"So  it  will  be — if  she  is  alive,"  said  the  young  man, 
who  was  very  doubtful  on  this  point  himself. 

The  setting  sun  cast  a  rosy  glow  over  the  fields  of  gol- 
den grain.  The  old  house  seemed  to  be  buried  in  a 
treasure  meadow.  All  round  rolled  the  radiant  waves, 
and  the  scarlet-coated  scarecrow's  task  was  nearly  done. 
The  corn  was  ripe  for  the  harvest,  and  soon  the  acres  of 
the  Solitary  Farm  would  consist  of  nothing  but  stubble. 

As  the  lovers  drew  near  the  house,  they  saw  a  labourer 
approach  the  scarecrow.  The  corn  had  been  reaped  for 
some  distance  all  round  it,  and  now  a  man  had  cut  a  path 
direct  to  it  in  order  to  pull  it  down.  Its  task  was  over, 
and  it  was  no  longer  needed  to  keep  off  the  birds.  Sud- 
denly the  man  laid  his  hand  on  the  quaint  figure,  which 
had  been  so  familiar  to  every  one  for  months,  and  uttered 
a  loud  cry  of  astonishment.  Cyril  saw  him  beckoning  to 
other  labourers,  and  shortly  there  was  a  crowd  round  the 
scarlet  coat. 


300  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Bella,  and  the  lovers 
hurried  to  join  the  group. 

One  of  the  labourers  heard  the  question,  and  turned 
excitedly.  "Master!  Missus!"  he  said,  in  horrified  tone, 
"it's  a  corpse." 

He  pulled  the  tattered  gray  felt  hat  from  the  scarecrow, 
and  Cyril  recoiled  with  a  loud  cry  of  surprise.  "Bella! 
Bella!" 

"What  is  it?  what  is  it?"  she  said,  startled  by  the  dis- 
covery. 

"It  is  my  father.    It  is  Edwin  Lister.  " 

All  present  knew  of  the  tragedy,  and  of  the  hunt  made 
for  Edwin  Lister.  And  now  the  missing  man  had  been 
discovered.  One  of  the  labourers,  mindful  of  public 
house  gossip,  touched  the  drooping  neck  of  the  figure, 
and  shuddered.  "Take  missy  away,"  he  said  softly  to 
Cyril,  and  with  a  grey  face,  "this  ain't  no  sight  for  her. 
His  throat  has  been  cut." 

But  it  was  not  the  man  who  led  the  girl  away.  Bella 
saw  the  labourer's  face,  guessed,  with  a  shudder,  what 
he  had  said,  and,  catching  Cyril's  arm  dragged  him  away 
from  that  awful  spot.  The  young  fellow,  with  a  blanched 
face  and  tottering  limbs,  stumbled  blindly  along  as  she 
pulled  him  forward.  In  all  his  expectations,  he  had 
never  counted  upon  such  a  terrible  dramatic  discovery 
as  this.  His  father,  the  missing  man,  the  murdered  man, 
who  had  been  hunted  for  alive  and  dead  for  many  weeks, 
had  been  used  by  Captain  Huxham  as  a  scarecrow  to 
frighten  the  birds.  No  wonder  they  had  kept  away  from 
those  sinister  fields. 

"Oh,  great  God!"  moaned  Cyril,  sick  and  faint,  "let 
this  be  the  end." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

RUN  TO  EARTH 

The  quiet  village  of  Marshely,  in  Essex,  was  getting  to 
be  as  well-known  through  the  length  and  breadth  of 
England  as  Westminster  Abbey.  The  murder  of  Captain 
Huxham  had  caused  a  sensation,  the  death  of  Durgo 
and  Vand  had  created  another  one,  but  the  discovery  of 
the  ghastly  scarecrow  which  had  warned  the  birds  from 
the  corn-fields  of  Bleacres,  startled  everyone  greatly.  The 
news  flew  like  wild  fire  through  the  village,  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  the  inhabitants  were  surveying  the  terrible 
object. 

Shortly  the  constable  of  the  village  who  had  su- 
perseded Dutton — in  disgrace  for  his  share  in  the'escape 
of  Mrs.  Vand — appeared,  and,  armed  which  the  authority 
of  the  law  and  assisted  by  willing  hands,  removed  the 
poor  relic  of  humanity  from  the  pole  whereupon  it  had 
hung  for  so  long.  The  explanation  of  its  being  there  was 
easy.  Undoubtedly  Captain  Huxham,  after  he  had  com- 
mitted the  crime,  and  while  Tunks  and  Pence  were  away, 
the  one  through  horror  and  the  other  through  sheer  worry, 
had  carried  out  the  dead  body  to  fasten  it  to  the  pole. 
He  undressed  the  straw-stuffed  figure,  with  which  every- 
one was  familiar,  and  having  destroyed  it  arrayed  the 
corpse  of  Edwin  Lister  in  its  military  clothes.  Then  he 
pulled  the  tattered  grey  felt  cap  well  over  the  face  so  that 
it  should  not  be  suspected  as  being  that  of  a  human  being, 
and  bound  the  dead  to  the  pole.  Of  course,  no  one,  not 
even  the  Vands,  suspected  that  the  figure  was  other  than 
what  it  had  always  been,  and  it  said  much  for  the  cruel 
ingenuity  of  Captain  Jabez  Huxham  that  he  had  selected 


302  -THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

so  clever  a  mode  of  disposing  of  the  body.  Had  he  thrown 
it  into  the  boundary  channel  it  might  have  been  fished 
out;  had  he  concealed  it  in  the  house,  it  would  probably 
have  been  discovered;  and  had  he  buried  it  in  the  garden 
near  the  house,  it  might  have  been  dug  up.  But  no  one 
ever  dreamed  that  the  scarlet-coated  scarecrow  was  the 
man  who  was  wanted.  Huxham  had  been  struck  down 
almost  immediately  after  he  had  put  his  scheme  into  exe- 
cution, and  it  was  doubtful  if  he  had  intended  to  leave 
the  body  there.  Probably  he  did,  as  it  was  isolated  by 
the  corn,  and  when  the  field  was  reaped  he  doubtless 
intended  to  get  rid  of  the  corpse  in  some  equally  ingenious 
way.  The  removal  of  the  scarecrow  would  have  excited 
no  comment  when  the  fields  were  reaped,  as  its  career  of 
usefulness  would  then  be  at  an  end.  The  dead  man's 
clothes  still  clothed  his  corpse  under  the  scarecrow's 
ragged  garments. 

One  result  of  the  discovery  was  that  everyone  decided 
not  to  buy  the  corn  which  had  flourished  under  so  terrible 
a  guardian.  Far  and  wide  the  newspapers  spread  the 
report  of  the  discovery,  and  Timson  became  aware  that 
a  prejudice  existed  against  making  bread  of  the  wheat 
grown  on  the  Bleacres  ground.  Not  wishing  to  spend 
more  money,  since  he  would  have  to  account  for  every- 
thing he  did  to  Mrs.  Vand,  he  withdrew  the  labourers. 
The  Solitary  Farm  now  became  solitary  indeed,  for  no 
one  would  go  near  it,  especially  after  night-fall.  The 
golden  fields  of  wheat  spread  round  it  like  a  sea,  and  the 
ancient  house  stood  up  greyly  and  lonely  like  a  thing 
accursed.  And  indeed  it  was  looked  upon  as  damned 
by  the  villagers. 

An  inquest  was  held,  and,  going  by  the  evidence  of 
LukeTunks,  it  was  decided  that  Edwin  Lister  came  by 
his  end  at  the  hands  of  Jabez  Huxham.  Cyril  was  com- 
pelled to  attend  and  give  evidence,  but  said  as  little  as 
he  could,  not  wishing  to  make  his  father's  shady  career 
too  public.  He  simply  stated  that  his  father  was  a  trader 
in  Nigeria,  and  being  the  friend  of  Durgo,  the  dispossessed 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  303 

chief  of  a  friendly  tribe  in  the  far  Hinterland,  had  come 
home  to  see  Huxham  and  get  from  him  certain  jewels. 
Of  course  he  could  not  suppress  the  fact  that  these  jewels 
had  been  given  by  Kawal  to  Maxwell  Faith,  and  had  been 
stolen  from  the  dead  body  of  the  man  by  his  murderer, 
Captain  Huxham:  nor  could  he  fail  to  state  that  Bella 
was  the  daughter  of  Maxwell  Faith,  since  had  he  not  done 
so  the  jewels  might  have  been  taken  from  her.  But  Cyril 
spoke  as  clearly  and  carefully  as  he  could,  quite  aware  of 
the  delicate  position  he  occupied.  There  was  no  doubt 
that  Huxham,  dreading  lest  the  murder  of  Faith  should 
be  brought  home  to  him,  and  anxious  to  retain  the  jewels 
which  were  the  price  of  blood,  had  murdered  Lister; 
afterwards  he  had  disposed  of  the  body  in  the  ingenious 
manner  explained.  But  Lister  was  dead;  Huxham  was 
dead;  Vand  and  Durgo  were  dead,  so  the  papers  suggested 
that  there  should  be  an  end  to  the  succession  of  terrible 
events  which  made  Marshely  so  notorious. 

"And  I  think  this  is  the  last,"  said  Cyril,  when  he  re- 
turned to  Miss  Ankers'  cottage  from  his  father's  funeral. 
"Bella,  we  can't  stay  here." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to,"  replied  the  harassed  girl, 
who  looked  worn  and  thin.  "  The  place  is  getting  on  my 
nerves.  I'll  marry  you  as  soon  as  you  like,  dear,  and 
then  we  can  go  away.  But  this  morning" — she  hesitated 
— "I  received  a  letter  from  my  father's  relatives.  They 
ask  me  to  come  to  them." 

"What  will  you  do?"  asked  Cyril  gravely. 

"  Write  and  say  that  I  am  marrying  you  and  intend  to 
go  abroad." 

"  But,  Bella,  if  you  reside  with  your  relatives  you  may 
be  able  to  make  a  much  better  match." 

"Yes,  said  Bella  with  a  grimace.  "I  might  marry  a 
Quaker.  No,  dear,  I  intend  to  stay  with  you  and  marry 
you.  I  have  done  without  my  relatives  for  all  this  time, 
and  I  hope  to  continue  doing  without  them." 

"Bella!  Bella!  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you." 

"Yourself,  dear.     That  is  all  I  want." 


304  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"A  stupid  gift  on  my  part,"  said  Cyril,  looking  rue- 
fully in  a  near  mirror  at  his  face,  which  was  now  lean 
and  haggard.  "You  have  the  money,  and  also  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  public.  I  can  offer  you  nothing  but  a  dis- 
honoured name." 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  she  said  vigorously.  "I  won't  have 
you  talk  in  that  way.  Why,  one  of  the  newspapers 
referred  to  your  father  as  a  pioneer  of  Empire." 

Sad  as  he  was  Cyril  could  not  help  smiling.  "That 
is  just  like  my  father's  good  luck,"  he  exclaimed;  "alive 
or  dead,  everything  comes  to  him.  I  expect  his  shady 
doings  will  be  overlooked,  and " 

"No  one  knows  of  his  shady  doings,  dear." 

"Well,  then,  he  will  be  looked  upon  as  a  hero.  It's 
just  as  well  he  is  buried  in  Marshely  churchyard,  for  some 
fanatic  might  propose  to  bury  him  in  Westminster  Abbey." 

"You  will  be  congratulated  on  having  such  a  father." 

"No!"  cried  Cyril  violently.  "I  won't  stand  that, 
Bella.  We  shall  go  to  London  next  week  and  get  married 
in  a  registry  office.  Miss  Ankers  can  come  with  you  to 
play  propriety." 

Bella  laughed.  "  I  rather  think  Dora  is  so  busy  nursing 
poor  Mr.  Pence  back  to  health  that  she  has  no  time." 

"Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  she  loves  Pence?" 

"Yes  and  no.  I  won't  say  what  may  happen.  She 
pities  him  for  his  weakness,  and  pity,  as  you  know,  is  akin 
to  love.  Besides,  only  ourselves  and  Inspector  Inglis 
know  of  the  temptation  to  which  Mr.  Pence  was  sub- 
mitted." 

"Why,  Bella,  everyone  knows  he  saw  the  corpse  of 
Huxham  and  held  his  tongue." 

"Yes,  but  everyone  doesn't  know  that  he  took  the  one 
hundred  pounds  which  he  restored  to  me.  He  is  looked 
upon  as  somewhat  weak  for  not  having  informed  the  police 
of  the  crime,  but  on  the  whole  people  are  sorry  for  him." 

"I  shall  be  sorry,  too,  if  a  nice  little  woman  like  Miss 
Ankers  marries  such  a  backboneless  creature." 

"Cyril!  Cyril!  have  not  our  late  troubles  shown  you 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  305 

that  we  must  judge  no  one  ?  After  what  we  have  under- 
gone I  shall  never,  never  give  an  opinion  about  anyone 
again.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  did  not  behave  better  to 
poor  Mrs.  Vand.  When  my  supposed  father  was  alive 
I  did  treat  her  haughtily.    No  wonder  she  disliked  me." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lister,  taking  her  hand,  "don't  be  too 
hard  on  yourself.  You  and  your  so-called  aunt  would 
never  have  got  on  well  together." 

"But  I  might  have  been  kinder,"  said  Bella,  almost 
crying;  "now  that  she  is  dead  and  gone  I  feel  that  I  might 
have  been  kinder." 

"How  do  you  know  that  she  is  dead  and  gone?"  asked 
Cyril,  in  so  strange  a  tone  that  Bella,  dashing  the  tears 
from  her  eyes,  looked  at  him  inquiringly.  "She  is  alive," 
he  replied  to  that  mute  interrogation. 

"Oh,  Cyril,  I  am  so  glad!    Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  am  glad,  poor  soul,"  said  Lister 
sadly.  "The  police  are  on  her  track.  I  didn't  want  to 
tell  you,  Bella,  but  for  the  last  two  days  the  papers  have 
been  full  of  the  hunt  after  Mrs.  Vand." 

"Why  didn't  Dora  tell  me?" 

"I  asked  her  not  to.  You  have  had  quite  enough  to 
bear." 

"Well,  now  that  you  have  told  me  some,  tell  me  all." 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  Some  too  clever  landlady 
in  Bloomsbury  suspected  a  quiet  lady  lodger.  It  cer- 
tainly was  Mrs.  Vand,  but  she  became  suspicious  of  her 
landlady  and  cleared  out.  Then  she  was  seen  at  Putney, 
and  afterwards  someone  noticed  her  in  Hampstead. 
The  papers  having  been  taunting  the  police  about  the 
matter,  they'll  catch  her  in  the  end." 

"Poor  Mrs.  Vand!  poor  Mrs.  Vand!"  The  girl's  eyes 
again  filled  with  tears. 

"We  can't  help  her,  Bella.  I  wish  Timson  could  get 
hold  of  her  and  induce  her  to  stand  her  trial.  I  don't 
think  either  judge  or  jury  would  be  hard  on  her;  more,  I 
fancy  that  her  brain  must  be  turned  with  all  this  misery." 

"  And  she  has  lost  her  husband,  too,"  sighed  Bella;  "she 


3o6  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

loved  him  so.  Oh,  dear  Cyril,  what  should  I  do  if  I  lost 
you?" 

Before  Lister  could  reply  with  the  usual  lover-like 
attentions  there  was  a  noise  in  the  road,  and  looking 
through  the  window  they  saw  many  people  hurrying  along. 
Dora  came  in  at  the  moment  from  the  other  room,  whither 
she  always  discreetly  withdrew  when  not  nursing  Pence. 

"It  is  only  some  policeman  they  are  running  after. 
He  declares  that  Mrs.  Vand  is  in  the  neighbourhood. 
If  she  is  I  hope  she  will  escape." 

"By  Jove!  I  must  go  out  and  see,"  said  Cyril,  seizing 
his  hat. 

"  I  shall  come  also,"  cried  Bella,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
the  two  were  on  the  road.  But  by  this  time  the  people 
were  not  tearing  along  as  they  had  been,  and  one  villager 
told  Lister  that  it  had  been  a  false  alarm. 

"The  old  vixen  won't  come  back  to  her  first  hole,"  said 
the  villager  with  a  coarse  laugh,  and  Bella  frowned  at  him 
for  his  inhumanity. 

As  there  really  was  nothing  to  hurry  for  the  lovers 
strolled  easily  along  the  road  talking  of  their  future. 
"Bella,  you  haven't  many  boxes?"  asked  Cyril. 

"Only  two.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Will  you  be  ready  to  come  with  me  to  London  to- 
morrow?" 

"  Yes;  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  out  of  Marshely,  where  I 
have  been  so  miserable.  Only  I  wish  I  knew  where  Mrs. 
Vand  is,  poor  soul." 

Cyril  passed  over  the  reference  to  Mrs.  Vand,  as  he 
was  weary  of  discussing  that  unfortunate  woman.  "  There's 
a  chum  of  mine  got  a  motor,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I 
wrote  and  asked  him  for  the  loan  of  it.  He  brought  it 
down  last  night,  and  it  is  safely  bestowed  in  the  stables  of 
'The  Chequers.'  To-morrow  at  nine  o'clock  let  us  start 
off  with  your  boxes " 

"And  Dora?" 

"No,"  said  Cyril,  very  decidedly.  "Dora  can  remain 
with  Pence,  whom  she  probably  will  marry.     We  will  go 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  307 

to  London  and  get  married  at  a  registry  office  in  the 
afternoon,  and  then  cross  to  Paris  for  our  honeymoon. 
I  haven't  much  money,  Miss  Rothschild,  but  I  have  enough 
for  that.  In  our  own  happiness  let  us  forget  all  our 
troubles." 

"I'll  come,"  said  Bella  with  a  sigh.  "After  all,  we 
can  do  nothing.  By  the  way,  Cyril,  what  about  Durgo's 
things?" 

"Well  it's  odd  you  should  mention  that.  He  evi- 
dently thought  that  something  might  happen  to  him  on 
that  night,  for  he  left  a  note  behind  him  saying  that  if  he 
did  not  return  they  were  to  be  given  to  me.  So  I  have 
shifted  them  long  since  to  my  lodgings.  There  they  lie 
packed  up,  and  ready  to  be  taken  away  in  our  motor  to- 
morrow." 

"Cyril,  you  have  been  arranging  this  for  some 
time?" 

"Well,  I  have.  It's  the  only  way  of  getting  you  to  leave 
this  place,  and  you  will  always  be  miserable  while  you 
remain  here." 

"I  only  stayed  in  the  hope  that  poor  Mrs.  Vand  might 
return,  and  then  I  would  be  able  to  comfort  her.  Oh! 
how  I  wish  Durgo  with  his  occult  powers  was  here  to 
help  us." 

"I  don't;  Durgo's  occult  powers  brought  him  little 
happiness,  and  didn't  solve  the  mystery  of  my  father's 
death.  One  would  have  thought  that  Granny  Tunks, 
in  her  trances,  would  have  told  Durgo  that  the  scarecrow 
which  he  saw  daily  was  his  dearly-beloved  master's  dead 
body." 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Bella  thoughtfully;  "but  then, 
as  Durgo  said  about  something  else,  perhaps  it  was  not  per- 
mitted. What's  become  of  Granny  Tunks,  Cyril?  Is 
she  still  at  the  hut?" 

"Yes;  but  I  heard  to-day  that  she  is  going  on  the  road 
again  with  her  old  tribe  of  the  Lovels.  I  daresay  Granny 
will  be  at  all  the  fairs  and  race  meetings,  swindling  people 
for  many  a  long  day." 


30S  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"And  her  son  Luke?" 

"He'll  get  off  with  a  light  sentence.  He  certainly  had 
no  hand  in  the  murders,  and  there  is  no  one  to  prosecute 
him  for  blackmail.  Granny  and  Luke  will  soon  be  to- 
gether again.  I  hope  never  to  hear  more  of  them,  for 
my  part.  Bella!  Bella!  don't  let  us  talk  of  such  things. 
We  have  had  enough  of  these  tragedies.  Let  us  be  selfish 
for  once  in  our  lives  and  consider  ourselves.  Hullo, 
what's  this?" 

The  question  was  provoked  by  the  sight  of  Inglis  with 
three  constables,  who  whirled  past  in  a  fly  which  they 
had  evidently  obtained  from  the  station.  As  they  dashed 
onward  in  a  cloud  of  dust  the  inspector,  recognising  the 
two,  shouted  out  something  indistinctly,  with  his  hand  to 
his  mouth. 

"What  does  he  say,  Cyril?"  asked  Bella  anxiously. 

"  Something  about  fire.  I  wonder  where  they  are  going  ? 
Oh!" — Cyril  suddenly  stopped  short — "I  wonder  if  they 
are  after  poor  Mrs.  Vand.  Come,  Bella,  let  us  see  where 
they  go  to." 

"But  where  are  you  going?"  asked  Bella,  as  he  rushed 
along  the  road  dragging  her  after  him  swiftly.  "Oh!" 
she  cried  out  with  horror,  "look!" 

At  the  far  end  of  the  village  and  in  the  direction  of  the 
Solitary  Farm,  a  vast  cloud  of  smoke  was  mounting 
menacingly  into  the  soft  radiance  of  the  twilight  sky. 
"No  wonder  Inglis  said  fire!"  cried  Lister  excitedly,  "I 
believe,  Bella,  that  the  Manor-house  is  blazing." 

"No,"  cried  Bella  in  reply,  "it  is  impossible." 

But  it  was  not.  As  they  rounded  the  corner  of  the 
crooked  village  street  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  people 
who  had  sprung  as  by  magic  from  nowhere,  they  saw  the 
great  bulk  of  the  Manor-house  enveloped  in  thick  black 
smoke,  and  even  at  the  distance  they  were  could  catch 
sight  of  fiery  tongues  of  flame.  The  sky  was  rapidly 
darkening  to  night,  and  the  smoke-cloud,  laced  with  red 
serpents,  looked  lurid  and  livid  and  sinister. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  309 

"  Come,  Bella,  come ! "  cried  Cyril  to  the  panting  girl,  and 
took  her  arm  within  his  own,  "  we  must  see  who  set  it  on 
fire." 

Bella  got  her  second  wind  and  ran  like  Atalanta.  They 
speedily  outstripped  the  crowd,  and  were  almost  the 
first  to  cross  the  planks  over  the  boundary  channel.  Inglis 
and  his  policemen  were  already  running  up  the  corn- 
path.  Why  they  should  run,  or  why  the  villagers  should 
run,  Cyril  did  not  know,  as  there  was  no  water  and  no 
fire  brigade,  hose,  or  engine,  and  no  chance  of  saving  the 
ancient  mansion.  He  and  Bella  ran  because  they  wished 
to  see  the  last  of  the  old  home. 

"Who  can  have  set  it  on  fire?"  Cyril  kept  asking. 

"Perhaps  a  tramp,"  suggested  Bella  breathlessly,  but 
in  her  heart  she  felt  that  something  more  serious  was  in 
the  wind.  A  strange  dread  gripped  her  heart;  and  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Vand  was  on  the  tip  of  her  tongue;  although 
she  never  uttered  it. 

As  the  weather  was  warm  and  the  ground  dry — for  there 
had  been  no  rain  since  the  electric  storm  which  raged 
when  Vand  and  Durgo  had  gone  down  into  the  muddy 
waters  of  the  boundary  channel — the  old  house  flamed 
furiously.  The  dry  wood  caught  like  tinder,  and  when 
Cyril  and  the  girl  arrived  the  whole  place  was  hidden 
weirdly  by  dense  black  smoke,  amidst  which  flashed 
sinister  points  of  fire.  Inglis  and  his  men  attempted  to 
enter  the  house,  but  were  driven  back  by  the  fierce  flames 
which  burst  from  the  cracking  windows;  also  the  great 
door  was  closed  and  could  not  be  forced  open.  They  were 
forced  to  retreat,  and  the  inspector  nearly  tumbled  over 
Miss  Faith,  as  Bella  was  now  called. 

"Can't  you  get  her  out?"  asked  Inglis  breathlessly. 

"Get  her  out!"  cried  the  girl,  terrified,  and  half  grasp- 
ing his  meaning. 

"Mrs.  Vand;  she  is  in  there,"  and  he  pointed  to  the 
furnace  of  flame. 

Bella  screamed  and  Cyril  turned  pale.  "You  must 
be  mistaken,"  he  said. 


310  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  inspector,  who  was  greatly 
agitated,  for  even  his  official  phlegm  was  not  proof  against 
the  terror  of  the  position.  "  The  London  police  wired  to 
me  at  Pierside  that  Mrs.  Vand  had  gone  down  to  Marshely. 
We  waited  at  the  station  to  arrest  her,  but  she  got  off  at  a 
previous  station  and  was  seen  by  your  village  policeman 
to  run  across  the  marshes.  He  wired  to  my  Pierside 
office,  and  the  wire  was  repeated  to  the  station  we  waited 
at.  We  got  a  fly  and  hurried  here  only  to  see  the  smoke. 
I  cried  out  'Fire!'  to  you  as  we  passed.  Great  heavens, 
what  a  blaze!" 

"Can't  you  get  her  out?"  cried  Bella,  who  was  white 
with  despair.  Little  as  she  had  liked  Mrs.  Vand,  the 
position  was  a  dreadful  one  to  contemplate. 

"What  can  we  do?"  said  the  officer,  with  a  gesture  of 
despair.  "There  is  no  water  and  no  buckets:  and  if  there 
were,  what  bucket  of  water  would  put  out  that  conflagra- 
tion. You  might  as  well  try  and  extinguish  hell  with  a 
squirt." 

Bella  paid  no  attention  to  the  vehemence  of  his  ex- 
pression, but  turned  to  Cyril.  "What  can  we  do?"  she 
wailed.     "Oh,  what  can  we  do?" 

"Nothing,  nothing.  Look  at  the  police,  look  at  the 
villagers.  We  can  do  nothing.  If  Mrs.  Vand  is  in  that 
blazing  house  God  help  her." 

There  was  now  a  great  crowd  or  men,  women  and 
children  all  gathered  some  distance  away  from  the  burning 
mansion,  trampling  down  the  tall  corn  in  their  efforts  to 
see.  Bella,  with  the  police  and  her  lover,  stood  the  nearest 
to  the  house.  "Please  God  she  is  not  there!"  breathed 
the  girl,  clasping  her  hands  in  agony. 

At  that  moment,  as  if  to  give  the  lie  to  her  kindly  prayer, 
a  window  on  the  first  storey  was  flung  open  and  Mrs. 
Vand's  head  was  poked  out.  Even  at  this  distance  Bella 
could  see  that  her  hair  was  in  disorder,  her  face  haggard, 
and  her  whole  mien  wild.  Breaking  away  desperately 
from  Cyril  she  rushed  right  up  almost  under  the  window, 
despite  the  fierce  heat. 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  311 

"Aunt,  oh  aunt,"  she  cried,  stretching  up  her  hands, 
"come  down  and  save  yourself!" 

"No!  No.  They  shall  not  catch  me!  I  shall  not  be 
hanged!  I  am  innocent!  I  am  innocent!"  shrieked 
Mrs.  Vand,  and  Bella  could  almost  see  the  mad  flash  in 
her  eyes. 

"Bella!  Bella!  come  back,"  shouted  Cyril,  and  dashing 
forward  he  caught  the  girl  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
away  as  the  front  door  fell  outward.  A  long  tongue  of 
flame  shot  out  and  licked  the  grass  where  Bella  had  stood 
a  moment  since. 

By  this  time  the  house  was  blazing  furiously,  and  every 
window  save  that  out  of  which  Mrs.  Vand's  head  was 
thrust,  vomited  flame.  The  sky  was  now  very  dark,  and 
the  vivid  redness  of  the  flame  in  the  gloom  made  a  terrible 
and  lovely  spectacle.  Bella,  in  her  despair,  would  have 
rushed  again  to  implore  her  aunt  to  escape,  but  that  Cyril 
and  Inglis  held  her  firmly.  "It  is  useless,"  they  said, 
and  the  girl  could  not  but  admit  that  they  were  right. 

Mrs.  Vand  apparently  was  quite  mad.  She  kept  fling- 
ing up  her  arms,  and  shouting  out  taunts  to  the  police  for 
having  failed  to  catch  her.  Then  she  was  seized  with  a 
fit  of  frenzy  and  began  to  throw  things  out  of  the  window. 
Chairs,  and  looking-glasses,  and  rugs,  and  table  orna- 
ments did  she  fling  out.  Suddenly  a  devilish  thought 
occurred  to  her  crazed  brain.  She  noted  that  a  tongue 
of  uncut  corn  stretched  from  the  main  body  of  wheat 
almost  under  the  window.  Darting  back  she  plucked  a 
flaming  brand  from  the  crackling  door,  and,  regardless 
how  it  burnt  the  flesh  of  her  hand,  she  ran  to  the  window. 
"Off!  off!  off  with  you!"  cried  Mrs.  Vand,  and  carefully 
dropping  the  brand  on  to  the  tongue  of  corn. 

In  one  moment,  as  it  seemed,  the  thread  of  fire  ran 
along  to  the  main  body  of  the  corn,  and  in  an  inconceiv- 
ably short  space  of  time,  the  acres  of  golden  grain  were  a 
sheet  of  flame.  The  villagers,  the  police,  both  Cyril  and 
Bella,  ran  for  their  lives,  and  it  took  them  all  their  speed 
to  escape  the  eager  flames  which  licked  their  very  heels. 


312  THE  SOLITARY  FARM 

Pell-mell  down  to  the  boundary  channel  ran  everyone. 
The  plank  bridge  was  broken,  and  many  tumbled  into 
the  muddy  water.  Mrs.  Vand  stood  at  the  window  yelling, 
and  clapping  her  hands  like  a  fiend,  and  the  whole  vast 
fields  of  wheat  flared  like  a  gigantic  bonfire. 

Half  swimming,  half  holding  on  to  the  broken  bridge 
planks,  Cyril,  with  Bella  on  his  other  arm,  managed  to 
scramble  through  that  muddy  ditch.  Beside  him  shrieked 
women  and  cursed  men  and  screamed  children.  The 
police  having  safely  reached  the  other  side  stretched  out 
arms  to  those  in  the  water.  Cyril  and  Bella  were  soon  on 
dry  land,  and  shortly  everyone  else  was  saved.  Not  a 
single  life  was  lost,  either  by  fire  or  water.  And  when 
safe  on  the  hither  side  of  this  Jordan,  the  excited,  smoke- 
begrimed  throng  looked  at  the  flaming  fields  and  the  roar- 
ing furnace  of  the  Manor  house.  The  smoke  and  flame 
of  the  burning  ascended  to  heaven  and  reddened  the 
evening  sky.  Mrs.  Vand,  in  setting  fire  to  her  last  refuge, 
had  indeed  provided  herself  with  a  noble  pyre  and  a 
dramatic  end.  Before  those  who  watched  could  draw 
breath  after  their  last  exertions,  the  roof  of  the  mansion 
fell  in  with  a  crash.  Mrs.  Vand  gave  one  wild  cry  and 
fell  backward.  Then  fierce,  red  flames  enwrapped  the 
whole  structure,  while  far  and  wide  the  raging  fire  swept 
over  the  fields  of  the  Solitary  Farm. 

"May  God  have  mercy  on  her  soul!"  said  Cyril  re- 
moving his  cap. 

"Ah!"  said  Inglis,  "if  I  had  caught  her,  I  wonder  if 
the  judge  would  have  said  as  much." 

"No."  replied  Bella,  "she  is  dead,  and  she  was  innocent. 
God  help  her  poor  soul!"  and  everyone  around  echoed 
the  wish. 

*M  Ml  «£*  *^  v'* 

^»  *7*  ^^  ^n  ^t* 

Bella  and  Cyril  did  not  go  to  London  the  next  morning 
as  they  had  arranged,  but  three  days  later.  In  the  mean- 
while search  had  been  made  amongst  the  ruins  of  the 
Manor-house  for  the  body  of  Mrs.  Vand.  But  nothing 
could  be  found.     In  that  fierce  furnace  of  flame  she  had 


THE  SOLITARY  FARM  313 

been  burnt  to  a  cinder,  and  not  even  calcined  bones  could 
be  gathered  together.  In  a  whirlwind  of  flame  the  un- 
happy woman  had  vanished,  and  her  end  affected  Bella 
deeply.  Indeed,  Cyril  feared  lest  the  much-tried  girl 
should  fall  ill,  and  on  the  third  day  he  brought  round  the 
motor-car  to  Miss  Ankers'  cottage,  to  insist  that  she 
should  come  with  him  to  London. 

"But  if  we  marry  so  soon  it  seems  like  a  disrespect  to 
Mrs.  Vand,"  argued  Bella,  "and  she  has  left  me  her 
money,  remember." 

"My  dear,  don't  be  morbid,"  advised  Dora;  "you  will 
be  ill  if  you  stay.  Get  married,  and  go  to  Paris,  and 
try  to  forget  all  these  terrible  things." 

"What  do  you  say,  Pence?"  asked  Cyril,  who  in  the 
meantime  had  carried  out  Bella's  boxes. 

Pence,  looking  lean  and  haggard  after  his  recent  illness, 
but  with  a  much  calmer  light  in  his  eyes,  nodded.  "I  say, 
go,  Miss  Faith,  and  get  married  as  soon  as  you  can." 

"You  wouldn't  have  given  that  advice  once,"  said 
Bella,  with  a  faint  smile,  as  Dora  assisted  her  to  adjust 
her  cloak. 

"No.     But  I  have  grown  wiser." 

"What  a  compliment!" 

"You  have  forgiven  me,  have  you  not?" 

"Yes,  I  have."  She  held  out  her  hand,  "and  the  best 
thing  I  can  wish  you  is  the  best  wife  in  the  world." 

As  if  by  chance,  her  eyes  rested  on  Dora,  who  blushed, 
and  then  on  Pence,  who  grew  red.  Afterwards,  with 
half  a  smile  and  half  a  sigh,  she  got  into  the  car  beside 
Cyril.     Dora  hopped  like  a  bird  on  to  the  step  to  kiss  her. 

Lister  raised  his  cap,  and  the  car  went  humming  down 
the  road  on  the  way  to  peace  and  happiness. 

"That's  the  end  of  her  solitary  life,"  said  Pence,  thank- 
fully. 

"On  the  Solitary  Farm,"  rejoined  Dora;  "come  and 
have  some  breakfast." 

The  End. 


THE  LION  AND  TH£  MOUSE 

Th«  Great  Story  by  Arthur  Hornblow.  Novelized  ftcm  Charts 
Klein's  Play.  A  timely  and  thrfUing  story  of  American  Efa 
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THE  END  OF  THE  GAME.    A  Story  of  American  life 

By  Arthur  Hornblow,  author  of  the  novel  "The  Lion  and  tha 
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CHAMPION.    The  Story  of  a  Motor  Car 

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tale.  _  How  the  car  is  stolen,  how  it  comes  into  the  service 
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THE  MARRIAGE  OF  MRS.  MERLIN 

By  Charles  Stokes  Wayne.  The  remarkable  originality  of  this 
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PRINCE  KARL 

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By  General  Charles  King.  An  historical  story  of  the  Civil  War 
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THE  MAKING  OF  A  SUCCESSFUL  HUSBAND 

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CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

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WHERE  THE  RED  VOLLEYS  POURED.    A  Romance 

of  the  Civil  War 

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IKEY'S  LETTERS  TO  HIS  FATHER 

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EXTRA  DRY.    Being  Further  Adventures  of  the  Water 
Wagon 

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BEAT  IT 

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FLIP  FLAP  FABLES 

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SETH  JONES  OF  NEW  HAMPSHIRE 

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THE  SHERIFF  OF  WASCO 

By  Charles  Ross  Jackson.  A  vigorous  Western  romance,  a  brave 
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CATHERINE'S  SHEAVES 

By  Mrs.  George  Sheldon  Downs.  The  author  tells  in  a  most 
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STEP  BY  STEP 

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THE  GOLD  WORSHIPERS 

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THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  WEAK 

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THE  BOTTOM  OF  THE  WELL 

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flLAFFIC.    The  Story  of  a  Faithful  Woman 

■y  B.  Temple  Thurston,  author  of  "The  Apple  of  Sdan."  Do 
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more  graphically  portrayed.     12mo,  cloth  bound,  $L50. 


THE  STORY  OF  PAUL  JONES 

By  Alfred  Henry  Lewis.  Thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
should  welcome  this  charming  historical  romance.  It  is  a 
great  story  of  the  fortunes  of  the  intrepid  sailor  whose  remains 
are  now  in  America.  A  story  that  should  find  a  place  in  every 
library,  for  it  is  the  best  book  that  Mr.  Lewis  has  yet  produced. 
It  has  a  grip  and  a  fascination  that  will  last  long  after  the 
reader  has  emerged  from  its  delightful  spell.  12mo,  cloth 
bound,  illustrated,  $1.50. 


TONIO,  SON  OF  THE  SIERRAS 

By  General  Charles  King.  This  thrilling  frontier  story  has  for  its 
central  figure  a  young  army  girl  with  two  lovers,  brother 
officers  and  classmates,  and  an  Indian  chief  of  the  Chief  Joseph 
type,  honorable,  incorruptible,  but  dragged,  as  was  Joseph, 
into  a  net  of  testimony  and  intrigue  that  nearly  wrecked  him. 
12mo,  cloth  bound,  illustrated,  $1.60. 


THE  LINCOLN  STORY  BOOK 

Compiled  by  Henry  L.  Williams.  A  judicious  collection  of  the 
beet  stories  and  anecdotes  of  the  great  President,  many,  of  the 
more  than  600,  appearing  herein  for  the  first  time.  12mo,  320 
pages,  cloth  bound,  $1.50  net.    Pestage  14  cents. 

WHAT'S  IN  A  DREAM.    A  Scientific  and  Practical 
Interpretation  of  Dreams 

By  Gustavus  Fiq<frTi»"  Miller.  The  most  complete  and  exhaustive 
work  that  has  ever  been  written  on  this  subject — it  contains 
over  10,000  dreams).  The  author  has  used  material  from  the 
Bible,  classical  sOBHttt  end  medieval  and  modern  philosophers. 
Quotations  have  &9D  fnade  from  Camille  Flammarion's  ' '  Un- 
known" The  Preface  Is  a  valuable  feature  of  the  book  and 
touches  in  an  faitSESSting  way  on  the  metaphysical  New 
Thought  School.  &,I!££o.  600  pages,  cloth  bound.  S1.5& 


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